The Mariner
by cheekybeak
Summary: Elladan discovers we are not always who we think we are.
1. Chapter 1

**Writing Elladan in "Alone in the Light" made me sad. I was compelled to fast forward and write a little something in his future...when he was happier.**

 **So here it is.**

 **This will eventually be swallowed up into a bigger story. I won't go into context or tell you how these two guys have arrived at this point. You'll have to wait and see!**

 **Just enjoy it for what it is. (And if you really don't want to know what might lie ahead for Elladan don't read it! There are spoilers!)**

 **P.S. Note on my head canon for Tuor: His fate is not officially clear so I see him as having made it into Valinor but, like the hobbits and Gimli who follow after him, not becoming immortal...perhaps having an extended lifetime but eventually dying there.**

 **And so, at the time of this story he is no longer there.**

 **(And for those of you not knowing who Tuor is, he was a Man, who was sent to the hidden elven city of Gondolin by a Valar eventually marrying Idril, an Elven Princess. His son was Earendil, who now travels the night sky as a star and who is Elrond's father.)**

 **For Nelyafinwefeanorion whose brainstorming sessions have led me to arrive at this story.**

 **Laerion**

 **Alqualondë**

I am watching Elladan in the sea.

The sea does nothing for me. It is pleasant enough. The sand, warm from the sun, dries me, the waves cool me after a long hot day at work. It is enjoyable. But it does not mesmerise me. It does not call to me, it does not sing to my heart. It is an agreeable interlude of relaxation, that is all.

If I had lived to remain in Arda I doubt the sea-longing would have claimed me as it did my brother.

For Elladan, on the other hand, it is rejuvenating. As I watch him now walking out of the waves, the sea foam swirling around his legs, the breeze flicking strands of dark hair across his face, it is not his beauty I see—although that is undeniable. It is the light upon his face, the shining of his eyes, the invigoration of his soul. His fea sings.

Drops of cool water hit my skin as he throws himself to the sand beside me.

"Such a good swim!" he sighs and it is a sound of pure joy.

"You look happy." It is an understatement. He radiates elation.

"I _am_ happy."

Those words are a doorway. An opening I have been waiting for for days.

"I do not think you are happy often enough, but I have noticed a difference these last few weeks. What has changed?" And he lifts himself up on his elbows to turn and look at me, brow furrowed in a frown as he thinks.

"You?" He says it as if he means it to be a statement of fact but it sounds like a question to me. He is not sure.

"I am not sure I am that powerful."

"You _are."_ Now that was more certain.

"Well perhaps I am." I shrug, "But still I think it is probably more than just me. This place agrees with you."

"It must be having a chance to think," he laughs, "without the neverending clamour of the sea in my ears. Well, I have the real sea of course," he throws an arm out towards it, "but it's sound is much more pleasant than my imagined one!"

I did _not_ expect him to say that. It is a shock that sends me bolt upright to stare at him and he laughs even louder at my stunned expression.

"Do not tell me Legolas never mentioned my sea-longing!"

"He did, of course he did. But you are in Valinor now. There should be no sealonging here."

"So it turns out it lingers." He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "Legolas must have told you that."

And I realise with amazement he and my brother must never have spoken about this. Whyever not?

"Legolas' does not linger. It is gone."

He sits running grains of sand through his fingers, gold spilling out in a pile and his head jerks up from watching them in surprise, to stare at me as I speak.

"Why do you say that?" The tone of his voice is full of accusation, as if he thinks I lie to torment him, but I do not.

"Because it is true. He told me, the moment he set foot upon the shores of Valinor the sealonging vanished. So dramatic it was he has never forgotten the feeling of suddenly being free of it."

"But the sea still draws him!" Elladan protests, "I know it. I have seen it. He goes with Elrohir to visit our Grandfather and Earendil and he drench themselves in the sea while Elrohir has to sit and watch. He is always complaining about Legolas dragging Earendil away from him to indulge in the waves. It causes him anxiety to watch for so long did he have to fight in Arda to defend Legolas from the sea. Do not lie to me Laerion. It is hurtful, and to what purpose?"

"I do not lie, Elladan. Yes, Legolas has been left with a love of the sea. Almost as much as the trees does he love it, but he has no yearning for it, he has no sea cry echoing in his ears. He enjoys it when he has it and walks away free. His sealonging is _gone."_

There is a crack cutting straight through his joy, through the iron clad exterior of his heart and for the briefest moment I see it . . . His reality, his grief. It is written clear upon his face.

"Then why is mine not?"

It lasts only for a moment, that glimpse into his soul before he slams shut the doors in my face, for Elladan is a master at subterfuge. Always strong, always composed, but I am learning the Elladan behind his walls is hurting.

But now he places a carefully crafted smile upon his face.

"No matter. So I am to be left with it. I am used to it. Perhaps I should just move to Alqualondë." He laughs softly, but I am deadly serious when I reply.

"Perhaps you should."

I do not go out on the boats the next morning. I leave that to Elladan who loves it. He will return glowing, eyes shining, from a day upon the sea. Instead I take myself to the library, In search of what, I do not really know. And I go back the next day and the next, until Elladan confronts me one evening.

"It has been days since you came out on the boats with me. Have I done something wrong?"

"I have been at the library. You do nothing wrong."

"At the library for _days?"_ He seems composed, not particularly bothered, but behind his eyes I see the tiniest inkling of fear. I am prepared.

"They asked me to spend time with their scribes. They wish to learn about us . . .about the Greenwood. My people do not visit here. They are all with my Father or Legolas and the Teleri are curious. We are—afterall—cousins.

"Of course." Instantly he relaxes, so quickly I feel a twinge of guilt at my deception. "Forgive me. I do not know what got into me, Laerion. I am not usually so insecure. I leave that to Elrohir . . . But I am so out of practice with this."

"As am I!" I laugh, and it is forgotten. A moment in which his walls were down if only briefly, swept aside.

But not forgotten by me.

When I finally find what I have been looking for I am triumphant.

It is all I can do not to run when I go in search of him that evening. He is not in his room, or mine, but instead at the shore, sea breeze in his hair, feet in the sand . . . Happy. And he smiles when he sees me. A brilliant, real, smile. Not then one he so often hides behind.

"I have prepared us a picnic," He cries to me across the sound of the waves. I thought we could eat outside tonight."

"Perfect." I settle myself down beside him and place the small pile of paper I have collected in his lap. I can not wait one minute more. "I have brought you a present."

"What are these?" He frowns slightly as he shuffles through them, reading a bit here, a bit there before he looks up, confusion in his eyes. "Notes about Tuor? Why have you given me these?"

"Tuor, your Great Grandfather."

"I _know_ that, Laerion. Do you think me uneducated? I know my own history."

"It is not that they are about him. It is _what_ they say." Quickly I gather them in my hands, turning the pages. Pointing out the lines I wish him to see. "Tuor spent much time here and he fascinated them. See here, where they speak of his joy on the boats, and here . . . Where they tell of how saddened he would be when he arrived and how lightened when he left. And here . . . His love of the sea shines through in these words."

"Because he was a Mariner." Elladan says it slowly, as if I am a child he must explain complex matters to.

"As Earendil is a Mariner!" I retaliate.

"Yes as Earendil is a Mariner. Because he is Tuor's son."

I do not understand why he is not getting this. Why he cannot see what is _so_ obvious to me.

"And _you_ are Earendil's grandson, Tuor's great-grandson so _you_ are a Mariner too!"

He laughs. He laughs out loud.

"You do not understand me." He smiles beneficently. "You do not know how it is. Why should you. You see Elrohir is the one with the mannish blood. He is the one who loved Minas Tirith with all his heart, the one who would have chosen mortality in a heartbeat if Legolas and I had not dragged him here. If anyone was to be a Mariner it would be Elrohir . . . And he is _not._ I am the elven one. I am the one with my father's skill in Healing, I am the one who felt the pull of Valinor from my childhood, I am the Sindar one with the sealonging."

"Do you not see, Elladan? _Legolas_ is the Sindar with the sealonging and his has long ago disappeared. Legolas yearned for Valinor. The sealonging pulled him across the sea and then, its mission accomplished, it disappeared. Your sealonging is not Sindar at all. It is Man. It is Tuor. It is Earendil. It is a love of the sea itself. That is why the boats, the sand, the waves, they make you shine so. _That_ is why it remains. That is why it is quieter now, when you are near the shore. That is why you are a Mariner. An _Elven_ Mariner."

He stares. He sits and stares at the papers spread out upon my lap. He lifts one up cautiously as if it will bite him.

"It is all there, Elladan." I tell him. "Tuor sounds like _you."_

"This is not how I see myself." He says at last.

"But that does not mean it is not true."

"What do I even do with this?" He asks.

"Well that is obvious! We go to Earendil. Tell him of your yearning. Ask him of his father. _He_ will help you."

And he pushes the paper away as if it burns him.

"I will not go to Earendil."

"Why?" I am beginning to understand why Legolas spends so much time complaining the Noldor make no sense.

"My Father is estranged from Earendil."

"You are not your Father."

"You have no idea how much it will hurt him if I seek him out."

"That makes no sense, Elladan. Elrohir sees Earendil often."

I know he does because Legolas tells me. Earendil is one of Legolas' favourite people.

"Because Elrohir is the mannish one!" Elladan cries, "So Father understands his need to connect, living here in Valinor surrounded by elves, as he does. Do you not understand? Earendil abandoned my father. He sailed away and left him . . . To die! Father will feel I betray him if I seek him out. He will not even hear his name spoken! I will not betray him."

Compared to my brother I am the reasonable one. I am level headed and sensible. Legolas has the wild temper and I have the steady reason. But not always. Sometimes . . . When things are close to my heart I can have a temper too. And I do now.

"I do not give a damn about Elrond." Angrily I gather up the papers and put them to one side. "I care not for him or his long ago feud with his Father. More fool him if he will not listen to an explanation or hear an apology, or at least try and mend things between them. I care about _you._ If your father would prevent you going to see Earendil—and I do not think he would if only you dropped those walls you hide behind and told him how you are feeling—then he is no father at all. If you will not see Earendil then _I_ will."

Then before I can stop myself I am on my feet in a Thranduilion rage and striding away from him down to the sea. There are stones buried amongst the sand and it is most satisfying to throw them, with a splash, into the water.

"Would you really do that?" I do not have to turn around to know Elladan stands behind me.

"Yes I would. Yes I _will!"_ He will not talk me out of it. I am nothing if not stubborn. I get that from my _own_ Grandfather.

"Then I had best come with you."

Elladan's shoulder brushes against mine as he moves to stand beside me. He picks his own stone up and sends it skimming across the waves.

"You have not been talking to the scribes all this time, have you?" He says.

"No, I have been searching for something that would help you. What better place to find the answers about the sea than with the Teleri?"

"But it has taken you days, Laerion."

"How ever long it took, it took . . . I did not mind."

"Why? Why did you do this?"

The answer to that is easy.

"I have seen your unhappiness and I can see you are happier here. I wanted to find out why."

"You care?" He says softly.

"Yes I care."

He is silent. Eventually another stone is sent dancing across the sea before he speaks.

"I am not used to that."

It startles me. It makes me spin around to face him.

"Your brother cares!"

"Oh he does. Elrohir loves me with all his heart. But I can often feel invisible. He wishes me to be strong, capable, wise and composed. He wants it so much that is all he sees. The misery? It frightens him. He turns his eyes from it."

His hand when I take it, is cold. His fingers, as I weave mine between them, are strong.

"I know we do not have a blazing, all encompassing, life changing love as our brothers do but instead something quieter and calmer." I tell him, "This may well be but a passing interlude while we wait for others . . Perhaps that is all it is . . . . but I see you, Elladan Elrondion.

I see _you."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Elladan**

 **Alqualondë**

Sometimes I do not know how I ended up here in Alqualondë with Laerion Thranduilion who I know not at all.

Even less do I understand how we came to be here under the stars, his head in my lap as we watch the waves.

But I do know that I like it.

And I also know that Elrohir will not. Still, it is Elrohir's fault I am here at all.

That morning in New Imladris, as he poured over his latest letter from Legolas and I prodded at my breakfast thinking bitterly I may as well be there alone for all the conversation he gave me, we had no idea it would lead me here.

"Do you fancy a trip to Alqualondë?" he asked out of the blue.

"What? No. Why would we go there?"

"Not us. You."

"Me? Do you want rid of me?" What on earth did he mean?

"Not me . . . Legolas."

"Legolas wants rid of me? If he intends to visit and you want time to yourselves I can go to Tirion . . . Or Father, both more useful than Alqualondë." I have to admit I was slightly hurt they might want me gone.

"He does not want rid of you! It is Finrod's suggestion and he simply passes it on."

Finrod.

My uncle is power, beauty and awe. He is magnificent. But he is also called eccentric by many. He thinks deeply, he likes to know things, he loves difference. But some of his thinking goes against all commonsense, against everything we have always believed and there are those who say he has been damaged by his rapid return from the Halls.

Why he suddenly believed I should go to Alqualondë was anyone's guess.

"If Finrod has a suggestion for me he would do well not to tell it to Legolas first."

"You over-react Elladan. You are so defensive today." My brother sighs. "Finrod has suggested Laerion go there. He feels he needs to explore—leave the forest to see the whole of Valinor, find his place here away from Legolas and from Thranduil. He thinks you might wish to join him."

"Well the answer is no. I do not need Finrod sending me across the land to try and _fix_ me. There is nothing to fix."

And Elrohir rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I will tell Legolas you are not interested."

That night I dreamt of the sea. I was in Arda and it surrounded me. Currents pulled at my legs, spray wet my hair, salt tainted my lips. It was bliss; an irresistible bliss.

And he was there, a shadow behind me, a hand clasping my elbow holding me firm.

"Embrace it Elladan!" He told me. How had I forgotten that?

I could still smell the sea when I woke and it was with urgency I rushed to find Elrohir.

So dramatic was I he looked up from his breakfast startled, a frown of concern upon his face, when I burst in.

"What is it?"

"Have you sent that refusal to Legolas?" Suddenly it was imperative he had not. But Elrohir misinterpreted me and returned to his food with a sigh.

"Not yet, but I will. I _told_ you I would. See! It sits here waiting beside me. Can I not at least eat first?"

And the tight band of anxiety I had woken with released itself. I was not too late.

"You do not have to send it." I said casually, as if it was suddenly of no importance at all. "I have changed my mind. I will humour Findaráto. If he wishes me to be a minder for Laerion I will be."

"You will go?" Elrohir was so surprised his fork slipped out of his hand with a clang.

"I will go. Why not after all."

I do not manage to surprise him often. It made me laugh to see the astonishment upon his face. I should do that more often.

So now I am here. Surrounded by the sea which soothes my rough edges and muffles the echoes of the waves I live with every day until they are just a whisper. I feel so _well_.

And I have found love. A soft, uncertain love that is almost not quite love at all, but it is there, and I soak it up like a dying man in a desert, so long is it since I have been loved by anyone this way at all.

We exist in a bubble of paradise here. Nothing can touch us, we do what we wish . . . But soon we must go home and I do not look forward to that.

"Our brothers will not like this."

I am not sure what makes me speak my thoughts out loud.

It takes Laerion by surprise. With a sudden jerk he lifts his head off my lap and pulls himself upright to look at me. I miss the warmth of him as soon as he leaves.

"No they will not." He agrees. "Does that bother you?"

"No." I protest, but it is not true. "Well, the thought of them knowing does not bother me. Dealing with the ensuing drama does."

He looks away from me then, out to the waves, silver-gold hair obscuring his face but his voice when he speaks is tight and tense.

"Shall we end this here then?" He asks. "Have it be something for Alqualondë alone?"

"No!" The denial is wrenched from me and until I speak it I do not realise how much I want that _not_ to happen. How much I want to keep him. "No. I do not want that. It will be unpleasant for a time but not worth giving you up to avoid!"

Before my eyes he relaxes, and when he turns back to look at me his face is lit with a smile as brilliant as the sun.

"I am pleased to hear you say that. I will weather their storm for you. Elbereth knows I have survived through so many of Legolas' storms before now."

And that is what worries me. He has been so long at odds with his brother. They have only just reconciled and I know how happy that has made him. I do not wish to become the thing that drives them apart again.

"I do not want to come between you and Legolas." I tell him.

"I have to admit I have thought on that." He plucks a blade of grass from beside him and spins it absently between his fingers, back and forth so quickly it is but a blur. It is so reminiscent of Legolas that it makes me blink, to ensure it is actually Laerion beside me.

"Perhaps if we keep things quiet?" I say. "Under wraps. They do not have to know what we do."

"No!" Laerion is forceful in his reply. "I will not hide. I will not live my life constantly fearing disputes with Legolas. I will not let go of love simply because of his disapproval. I will not be endlessly fearful of losing him. I will not _change_ who I am simply to keep him happy for that is no brotherhood at all. If we are to be brothers we must learn to accept those things about each other we may not approve of. It will only be for selfish reasons Legolas will be angry about us. He will get over it."

But I know it will hurt him—for the two of them to be enmeshed in arguments once again. His death caused so much damage to them both.

"What was it like?" I cannot help my question even as he looks back up at me in surprise.

"What was what like?"

"Death, dying . . . Rebirth . . ." I should have asked him this before now. I do not know by I have not.

For a moment I think he will not answer me.

"That is a hard question to answer." He says in the end, "and I am not used to speaking on it. The only one who ever mentions it to me is Finrod."

I remember now Elrohir raging at how neglectful he felt Legolas and his family had been about Laerion's return.

"Not even your father?" I cannot imagine Thranduil avoiding _anything._

"My Father is wracked with guilt. It hurts him to revisit it and so we do not. What is it like? . .. . Well I can tell you Death is painful. It was not just the arrow in my chest but that briefest of moments when I knew . . . I realised I would die and I knew what it would do to my brother, standing behind me, and my father, who let me go on that patrol against his better instincts. I knew it would destroy them and there was nothing I could do."

I am quiet as he pauses for breath.

"Of the Halls I know nothing." He continues. "As much as I try I cannot remember. I want to. I try to catch glimpses of what I did there, who I saw there, but it is blankness. Except for Legolas . . . When Legolas arrived only to be stolen from me by the King of Men. _That_ I remember!"

He speaks of Aragorn. Of Aragorn chasing down Legolas' fea right to the doors of the Halls.

"You are angry with him . . . With my foster brother."

"Yes I am angry!" He crushes the blade of grass he still spins between his fingers. "Do you not see the damage he has done _my_ brother with his foolishness?"

It hurts to hear him speak of my Estel like that. But who am I to judge?

"Does it help to know I was angry with him too?" I ask. "At the time . . . So enraged despite being a healer I did not see the damage he carried as a result. I felt, as you do, it was selfish of him to bring Legolas back. I was full of righteous anger."

"You were?" By the look on his face I can see it _has_ helped.

"Yes I was. But then I came to realise it was Legolas' choice. It may have been a bad one but Legolas asked to return. He has the right to decide his own fate."

And Laerion is silent. He does not argue with me.

But I do not think for a second it will be that easy to gain forgiveness from him for Aragorn.

Instead he moves on.

"When I arrived back here," He says, "My mother was waiting for me. But she was not as I remembered her. Then my father arrived, similar but not exactly the Thranduil I knew. Friends came also but they had all changed, grow up, gone on with their lives. They were overjoyed to see me but I did not recognise the people they had become. And Legolas . . . Finally Legolas . . . All grown up and bringing a _dwarf!_ He was not the brother I had left behind. It broke my heart. He had found other, mortal brothers, to replace me. I am lonely. That is what Death is like. It is loneliness—a world filled with familiar strangers."

"Legolas _never_ replaced you. He carried your loss with him every day in Arda. I can tell you that."

"Hmm," Laerion shrugs his shoulders as if tossing off his melancholy words. I am not sure if he has really heard me. "But I am lonely no longer," he says. " I have my nephew now, someone I did not know before, all shiny and new, and my small neice. They lighten my heart. They do not know the _old_ Laerion. And I have you."

He reaches across and takes my hand.

"Someone brave enough to ask me what it was like. Someone who _wants_ to know. I will not give you up. Not so easily . . . Not even for Legolas. Not unless you wish it?"

I did not know the answer to that question when I awoke this morning. I did not realise it. But I know it now. I do not have to pause to think.

"I do not wish it." I say. "I have been lonely too, but no longer, and I do want to know. I want to know all of it."

"Do you think . . ." He murmurs as he lays his head back upon my lap and I begin to run my fingers through the pale gold silk of his hair, " . . .That Finrod knew what he was doing when he sent the two of us here?"

And I laugh.

"Finaráto? I have no doubt he knew!"

"Then I shall have to thank him."

Normally I would be angry, resentful at the thought of my uncle's interference and manipulation.

But just this once,

I think I shall have to thank him too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Legolas**

It has been such a strange feeling to be alone with Elrohir.

That is to say, we are often alone and yet never really for always Elladan is there. Even when he is not in the room with us still, he is there . . . Somewhere.

During these last couple of months when he has been in Alqualondë I have been reveling in his absence. I do not resent him. I knew from the start Elrohir came with Elladan. But I am making the most of this one and only time I have Elrohir truly to myself.

And it is nearly over for we expect them back today. It is just as well for Elrohir is missing his brother. It makes him cantankerous and grumpy. He is like a bear with a sore head.

"What drove Findaráto to feel he had to interfere with your family anyway?" He grumbles as we sit and wait. "Sending Laerion to the sea? What was that about?"

"He thought he needed to find his own space."

"Well why did he think he needed Elladan to do it?"

"Elrohir . . " I sigh, Elrohir in a mood can be so difficult. "It was not about Laerion _needing_ Elladan. It was about Elladan needing some space to be himself as well. You know this. You were pleased about it. Do not grumble now because you miss him. They are nearly back."

Honestly it reminds me of Gimli, this muttering bad temper. This has been the longest of mornings, waiting for them and my patience is being sorely tested.

By the time Laerion rounds the corner and rides into view I am ready to go home to my woods without him.

And the moment I see him I know something is different.

When I was younger I did not see Laerion's burdens. I worshiped him. He seemed golden and invincible to my eyes. Our people adored him. When he walked into a room it seemed brighter, more exciting—to me anyway. But now I am older and I can see he is too serious, too careful, too controlled. I can understand what it must feel like to be my father's eldest son. I can understand it for I have lived it after his death, but I know allowances were made for me that were not for him. My father loved my flightiness, my silvanness, and worked to make sure that was not squashed by my duties. He had lost one son and so took extra care with the happiness of the other.

Laerion's burdens were heavy, they still are and I am one of them. But today .. . Today he walks as if they have all been lifted off his shoulders. He shines.

I have told him before, every time he emerges from the forest, every time I turn a corner and see him unexpectedly, every time he walks in to a room, my heart skips as I remember, he is back! It is like that now.

"Little brother!" He is off his horse and he holds me tight before I can move. A very mannish, very un-Laerion like hug. No elvish nod or subtle touch.

His smile is blazing.

"Well the sea obviously agrees with you." I laugh as I free myself. "Who knew you would turn out to be a Teleri fisherman."

"It is Elladan who is the fisherman." He throws a fond glance over his shoulder to where Elladan stands. I am pleased they are getting on. They did not know each other very well before they left. There was a risk it would not go well.

Elladan throws his head back and laughs. And I stare.

What has happened to Elladan?

Elladan is the quiet twin. He fea is calm and soothing. He is the healer, but not today. Today he as bright and as brilliant as Elrohir.

Elrohir sees it too. There is confusion written all over his face as he looks at his twin.

"I have missed you." He says. He is stunned, as if he is not quite sure what to do with this sparkling version of his brother.

"I have missed you too, to the depths of me." Elladan throws an arm across Elrohir's shoulders. Usually Elrohir is the one everyone sees, the one who draws all the attention, the fiery one. Not today. "Come and tell me what goes on here," Elladan says as he leads him away. "What gossip is there?"

"No gossip." Elrohir has no words left I think.

"Come on. There must be some .. . Or have you missed it spending all your time holed up with Legolas?"

I turn to Laerion as we watch them walk away, poor bewildered Elrohir stumbling his way through conversation.

"Well the sea certainly seems to have done Elladan good. He is in a good mood."

"I need to talk to you about that," Laerion replies somewhat intensely.

"Elladan's mood?"

"No the sea, or more accurately the sea-longing. Elladan's sea-longing."

"You are several years to late for that," I laugh, "Although he may have been left with an affinity for the sea as I have. Elladan's sea-longing has long gone."

"Has it though?"

The stare I give my brother is a long, hard one and I sigh. We have talked about this before, the sea-longing. Laerion sat me down and insisted I tell him every detail. What was it like? When did it start? How was it when it left? Hours he took going over every inch of my experience. He _knows_ this.

"I told you. The sea-longing vanished the moment I set foot upon the shore. It was dramatic in its suddenness. One moment it was there, the next it had disappeared and I was free of it."

"Hmm," Laerion turns away from me then and begins to walk towards the main house. "When did you last talk with Elladan of the sea-longing?" He tosses over his shoulder.

There are two questions in my mind as I hurry to catch up with him. When _did_ I last speak with Elladan about the sea-longing? and since when did Laerion become so passionate about Elladan's affinity with the sea anyway?

Why is he asking me this?

"It was in Arda I suppose," I tell him when I catch up to him. It must have been because we certainly have not spoken of it here. It was definitely not during that whirlwind of time immediatly before I left Arda, though I _should_ have spoken to Elladan then. I knew he was struggling. I am not proud of my behaviour then. I was full of grief for Aragorn, and the sea, realising it was so close to triumphing, screamed in my ears with glee. It meant I could hear no one, think of no one. Not Eldarion who had lost his father, not Elladan having to stay and fight the sea even longer, not Maewen who was leaving the land she loved to be with me, nor Gimli sailing into a foreign unknown. Not even Elrohir, who I loved—who faced the worst of his fears at my departure—did I see.

When I arrived in Valinor, and the sea vanished without a trace leaving me standing in a deafening silence I realised how I had abandoned those I cared for and I was mortified.

Laerion turns on me now, quite unexpectedly angry.

"How could the two of you not even _discuss_ this? What were you thinking?"

And I am defensive in return. What does Laerion know of the sea anyway?

"There was no reason to. The sea longing is gone. We spent so much time fighting it why would we rehash that now we are free?"

"Except Elladan is _not_ free and if you had bothered to ask you would know that!"

It is like a slap across the face.

"What do you mean?" I have to ask because his words do not make sense and if they mean what I think it is terrible.

"I _mean_ Elladan still has _his_ sealonging."

"No," I try to argue for he must have this wrong. "The sealonging disappeared when we reached Valinor."

" _Your_ sealonging disappeared. Elladan's did not. He told me so himself. All this time he has presumed you still carried it also. He was shocked to discover otherwise. It is not as bad as it was in Arda but it is still _there."_

"You must have misunderstood him." I cannot allow this to be true.

"I did not misunderstand. He was quite clear. He was happy by the sea . . . A different Elladan. When I asked what it was that made him so he told me the absence of the sea in his ears, replaced by the reality, certainly helped. All these years and no one has done anything about this for him because neither of you were sensible enough to talk to each other! Why is Elladan so invisible to the rest of you, Legolas?"

It takes me aback, that question, and he is right. We ran into problems in Arda because none of us looked behind Elladan's mask of composure. Have we not learnt our lesson?

I have no words. I am shamed by this news.

"Elladan has never said—" That is no defence and I know it. "Elrohir has seen nothing either." But that also does not exonerate me from my neglect. I know the fact Elladan still longed for the sea would terrify Elrohir. I know how he is. I know he will have turned his eyes from any signs . . . Not consciously, he would never consciously abandon his brother, . . . But he will have obliterated them from his mind none-the-less. The blame for this rests on _my_ shoulders. I am the one who suffered from the sea-longing all those years. I am the one who should have been asking questions.

Why has Laerion seen this and I have not?

 _Because he has been to the sea with Elladan, you fool._ I tell myself, _and you have not._ Elladan rarely accompanies Elrohir and I on our sojourns to see Earendil, and he does not interact with the sea there at all.

As if he reads my mind Laerion follows my thoughts straight to Earendil.

"I need you to help me get Elladan to Earendil," he says. "You can do that much at least and I know, for all he has promised me he will go, when push comes to shove he will resist because of this ridiculous feud of Elrond's."

I agree with my brother on that one. Elrond's feud with Earendil _is_ ridiculous and that Elladan has taken it upon himself frustrates me.

But still I question.

"Why Earendil? I would think Galadriel more appropriate. She would be more likely to solve the mystery as to why Elladan's sealonging has not left as it should."

"Elladan's sealonging is not elven." Laerion folds his arms and gives me a stare that dares me to correct him. "So why would Galadriel help us?"

"Oh now you are being ridiculous, Laerion. Has the sea addled your head? Of course it is elven. What else could it be?"

"Mannish, Legolas. I know you never were a scholar, but I also know Father did his best to ensure you at least had the fundamentals. It is well known Tuor longed for the sea, and Earendil . . . Is that very fact not at the heart of Elrond's resentment? His father's absence on the sea?"

He is right.

"Think about it," he continues. "Elladan's longing for the sea has not abated as your Sindar one has. Earendil is his grandfather, Tuor his great grandfather. Does that not suggest something more Mannish to you?"

"But Elladan is the elven twin,"

"Oh you people!" Laerion throws his hands in the air in disgust and strides away. "Do you have to pigeonhole him?" he shouts back at me, "Can you not open your eyes. There is no such thing as an _elven_ twin. He is Elladan and he is both elf and man."

He leaves me stranded, and amazed.

Could what he says be true?

Why would Laerion, who barely knows him, understand Elladan better than I?

And why does it make him so angry?

And slowly the cogs begin to click over in my mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Laerion**

Legolas is on to us.

I do not know what it is I have done or said to raise his suspicions but he watches me like a hawk. When I told him earlier he was no scholar I was right, but that is not due to any lack of intellect . . . far from it. Legolas is quick witted, astute and observant—as sharp as a tack. He simply lacked the patience when younger to sit and learn things he could see no use for.

I feel his gaze upon me across the table as we sit down to eat. He watches my every move.

With every smile I bestow upon Elladan Legolas' watchfulness increases. It is no act on my part— I find the glow of this relaxed and contented Elladan beside me makes me smile despite myself. At every subtle touch from me upon Elladan's arm, Legolas frowns.

"Smile," I say to him hoping to distract, "you look positively miserable tonight, Legolas! Anyone would think you are not pleased to see us."

"Of course I am," he mutters, jabbing at his meat angrily.

"Is something wrong?" Elrohir, as always, is instantly worrying about my brother. He treats Legolas as if he is a precious gift he cannot believe he has been given, handling him with kid gloves, dancing around him as if he is a fragile, delicate thing. I admit, even in the very recent past, my brother _has_ been fragile, and much in need of concern and gentle care, and I am grateful he has had someone as devoted as Elrohir watching for his safety, but Finrod has now taken him in hand.

Long hours has Finrod spent with Legolas, mending the bruises we cannot see, strengthening his defences, and before my eyes Legolas has emerged as if out of a chrysalis; strong, lively, robust, the brother I always imagined he would grow to be. He no longer needs quite as watchful an eye upon him as Elrohir gives him, nor quite as much smoothing of the world around him.

I worry for them if Elrohir cannot adjust to this new, more determined, healthier Legolas. I can see trouble ahead if my stubborn small brother begins to resent such cosetting. In truth I have not seen much of them together—Elrohir does not visit the woods—but what I have seen causes me concern. Elrohir protects too much, too often, and Legolas is not polite in his response and yet still allows it.

"Nothing is wrong!" Legolas snaps as if to justify my line of thought and Elrohir flinches at the harshness, withdrawing his touch. Tonight though I believe Legolas' bad temper is more to do with me than his lover. Elladan and I both to be specific.

That is not Elrohir's fault and as far as I can tell he remains oblivious. I do not know how. Can he not _see_ his brother? Elladan is majestic tonight. He radiates with a happiness I have never seen from him before Alqualondë. It is not all to do with me, only the very edges of it are me, but how does Elrohir not notice?

It annoys me, that both Legolas and Elrohir seem content to let Elladan drift, unnoticed and unhappy, through their lives.

I am determined I will make them _see_ him.

I want them to look behind the calm composure, the quiet sureness he projects to others and see the misery, the loneliness, the melancholy. I want them to notice this sea-longing that dogs him and help me defeat it.

I want him as happy always as he was at Alqualondë. Striding through the waves, shaking his hair free of sea spray, with a smile as brilliant as the sun.

"It is a shame Alqualondë is so far away since it suits you so well."

The words slip out unguarded as the image of a shining Elladan standing in the waves floats through my mind.

Beside me he laughs.

"Where did that come from?" He will deflect from this, I know it, and I did not mean to raise it so early in any case. I wanted to speak with Elrohir—or let Legolas speak with him . . . first.

But Legolas, my unhappy little brother sitting across from me, taking note of our every move, building a case against us in his mind, puts all that aside and leaps in to the fray to fight my battle for me.

I knew he would. He is loyal and honorable. He has been blind but now his eyes are open to Elladan's sea he will move mountains to fix it. No matter that he simmers with discontent about whatever it is he has seen between us.

"I would love to live closer to the sea." He says nonchalantly. "It is the only thing I would change about our woods."

"You see enough of the sea when we visit Earendil, surely." There is an anxiety to Elrohir's response that Legolas catches as well as I.

"I know it worries you," he frowns with annoyance, "but how many times must I tell you the sea is no danger to me now. I wish you would stop fearing it on my behalf. In case you have not noticed, Elrohir, we are in _Valinor,_ not Arda."

That reply is too sarcastic by half for my liking. My brothers tongue can be cutting when he has a mind to be. He has all too much of our grandfather in him. He never knew Oropher, but I did, and at moments like these it is as if he sits right at this table with me.

"Still . . ." Legolas is as changeable as ever. As fast as it arrived the flash of Oropher vanishes to be replace by silvan charm. "You raise a good point," he flashes Elrohir one of his beautiful smiles, a smile of triumph, and for a second I wonder if I imagined the cutting sarcasm, "You could come to see Earendil, with us, Elladan, since you have discovered this affinity with the sea. He would take you out on the boats. I will give up my spot for you if you like. Elrohir is always complaining he wants me to spend more time on the shore."

And Elladan shakes his head. But before he can produce an excuse not to visit his grandfather Elrohir provides it for him.

"You know Elladan is not comfortable with Earendil!" He chides Legolas.

"And I know that is foolish. If the sea makes him as well as it most obviously looks now then he should put aside this foolish vendetta that is not even his in the first place and spend more time there. Earendil is the obvious answer."

Oh Legolas . . . So blunt . . .so unsubtle. Sometimes I wonder how he ever survived in the court of the King of Men. How did he not start a war in Gondor? When I asked him to help me get Elladan to Earendil I imagined subtlety not full on attack.

"Are you calling my father foolish?" Elladan does not even have to lift a finger to defend this. Elrohir leaps in to do it for him. It confuses me for I know from Legolas, Elrohir too is frustrated with the distance Elladan keeps from Earendil . . But now he enables it?

"You _know_ he is! You have said it yourself, Elrohir! Whatever problems the two of them have are better dealt with by actually having a conversation!"

I am left wondering how we have moved so quickly from peaceful dinner to major confrontation.

"That is rich coming from you, Legolas Thranduillion." Elladan has decided he will speak for himself it seems and he makes me jump at the sound of his voice entering the fray. "If someone ever slighted Thranduil I do not see you rushing to spend time in _conversation_ with them. No one holds a grudge as deeply as the house of Oropher. We all know that . . . Even if it leads your people to their death. Do not cast aspersions at me or _my_ father, who has been _wronged!"_

I know this is a sensitive subject for him but does he forget I am sitting beside him?

"I am also Thranduillion," I say quietly, "I am also of the house of Oropher."

And his face blanches as he turns to look at me.

We have never had an argument. It feels as if, out of nowhere, we are on the brink of one now.

But the moment is lost in the mercurial chaos that is my brother.

"My Mother slighted _me,_ " he cries. "She abandoned _me._ Yet I forgive her and love her and even when we were at odds I _never_ prevented my children from loving her and knowing her!"

He forgets it took years to drag him kicking and screaming towards forgiveness for my mother. But he has a point.

"Stop it!" Elrohir reaches over and grasps the angry Legolas firmly on the arm. "You are not helping. Elrond does not try to prevent us loving Earendil."

"Yes he _does."_ Legolas hisses. "You are so frustrating, all of you!"

"And you and your tangled, chaotic family are not?" Elrohir chuckles as he says it. He brushes a hand against my brothers cheek. He takes the Legolas, full of self righteous anger, and deflates him just like that.

"We are not as frustrating as yours!"

But Legolas smiles as he says it. The storm clouds are broken. I am impressed.

And beside me Elladan stares at his hands.

Elrohir stands then, perhaps to seize the opportunity to separate Legolas and Elladan before it all starts again.

"I am not sure about you," He says, "but I have had my fill. Walk with me Legolas."

No doubt they will continue this conversation away from us, away from Elladan. I only hope Legolas does not spill whatever suspicions he may have of us. It would not be the calm controlled way I wished to tell them.

Elladan turns to me as they leave.

The brilliance he shone with just minutes earlier has vanished. Is it my fault? I mourn the loss of that incandescence.

"I will come and see you later," It is almost a question instead of a statement. The tension we were teetering on the edge of just moments earlier hovers between us still . . . those words against my family.

I do not want to step in to it now.

We neither of us yet know how to argue.

"Later." I smile instead. "I will be waiting." But I stand, and I nod, and then I leave so I can breathe.

And he watches me go.

My room is warm, lit by a roaring fire. It is cosy and comfortable, quiet after the dinner time chaos. There are two armchairs in front of the fire and I throw myself into one. I wonder when he will arrive for he surely will, I wonder at his mood when he gets here, I wonder how I will manage it? I wonder what he has to say to me?

And I sit.

And I wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: If you have not already done so I strongly recommend reading the story "Shine" on the Finfinfin1 profile before this chapter.**

 **Laerion**

I do not mind the waiting. It gives me time to organise my thoughts, to consider how I will say what I need to say. People say I am too careful, too organised, and perhaps I am but still, I find considering all the options, thinking through all the potential pitfalls, makes sense to me. It drives Legolas mad . . . my cautiousness.

But it means I am prepared.

The knock when it comes, is exactly as sharp as I expected it. When the door flings open, giving me no time to rise to my feet and answer I am not surprised. It is as I imagined.

When my brother storms into the room bringing the dark clouds with him I do not even blink. The only thing that surprises me is how long it has taken him to extract himself from Elrohir to come and challenge me.

"What in the Fires of Morder are you doing?" He is just as furious as I thought he would be.

"I am sitting waiting for you. Come over here by the fire, it is warmer."

"Waiting for me?" It takes the wind right out of his sails. I know how to answer Legolas' volatile fury. I am not my father's son for nothing. I have Thranduil's cunning and his calmness.

"I imagined after dinner you would have something to say to me, but perhaps we can talk about that disasterous discussion you started first? While I appreciate your help getting Elladan to see Earendil I did not imagine insulting his father would be the best way to go about it."

He is wrong-footed. Whatever he has seen between Elladan and I has been burning a hole right through him. It has blinded him. He did not expect a dissection of his own incautious words. He is unprepared and easy to divert.

"He insulted our grandfather first! Did you not hear him?"

"Actually I think you threw the first insult, Legolas. You called Elrond foolish."

"He _is_ foolish!"

"That is by the by. I may well agree with you on that but Elrohir and Elladan obviously will not."

It has given me the smallest window to calm the initial heat of his indignant fire and that is all I get.

"What do you know of Elladan anyway?" He has circled back to the reason he is here in the first place. "What was that at dinner? Do you think me blind? Elrohir may not see what is right in front of his nose but _I_ do. What do you think you are doing? I saw the looks you gave him, I saw the touches, I am no fool!"

"I know you are not, Legolas."

"Then what is this? Do you _want_ to hurt me?"

"Of course not. What is between Elladan and I has nothing to do with you."

Too late I see the tears glinting within his eyes, too late I hear the cracking of his voice, too late I realise this is not rage at all but grief . . . And I should have known it. I _should_ have.

"It _is_ to do with me! I will _not_ let you replace him!

Iruion. That is what this is about.

Iruion who I loved. Iruion who doted on my small brother. Iruion whose death broke both our hearts.

I remember that evening, after I had brought him back from the south, after I had suffered through the long trek across the Greenwood with my Love cold and lifeless on the horse before me. I remember my exhaustion, my utter grief, the cold emptiness of the world without the light of Iruion beside me. I remember it all.

I remember my mothers panic when my brother could not be found. I remember my father's stern tension at Legolas' disappearance and I remember finding him. When every step I took was an agony, when all I wished to do was close my door and weep, I found my tiny tear-stained brother hiding amongst the trees, where he always hid, where only I knew to look for him, because it was me he wanted.

I told him then Iruion loved him, I told him he would not want those tears, he would not want his precious Legolas sad. I wrapped my arms around him as he sobbed upon my shoulder, when all I wished to do was weep myself. Legolas was only a child then, the smallest of boys.

And I realise with a shock it is not Legolas the father stood in front of me now. It is not Legolas the warrior, not Legolas of the Fellowship, not Legolas, leader of the silvans. It is Legolas the boy. The broken hearted boy hidden amongst the roots of the trees because one he loved with all his heart had died.

And I do now what I did then—what I am good at. I stand up, I take him in my arms, and I let him cry.

"I do not replace him little one, I will never replace him."

I have so many memories of my brothers childhood. Far too many of them are sad. He was always precious, always different, always special. A jewel in the darkness of our world. He should never have been there in the bleakness of the Greenwood under the pall of Darkness. His spirit was meant for joy, not loss.

And he grew up amongst so much loss.

I know there were other young ones who grew up within the dark, Maewen for one, but Legolas was the smallest, the youngest, the last of us, and he shone the brightest. The dark affected him the most.

It hurt him, it twisted him, it damaged him.

I know most in Valinor who know him and love him . . . my father, my mother, Elrohir, Elrond, even Galadriel, believe his friendships with mortals are to blame for the problems he has had here. Elves are not meant for grief. We are not meant to separate forever from those we love. We are not designed to recover, move on and live our lives. It makes sense that that is why Legolas struggles.

But I do not agree.

And Finrod who heals him agrees with me.

I have told Finrod my memories of the boy, Legolas. I have told how I woke once, in the Healing Halls, sore to the depth of me from whatever injury had felled me to find my little brother sitting, pale faced and wide eyed, watching me. Quiet and still as he never usually was. How my Mother apologised as she held my hand and stroked my forehead. _He would not settle,_ she said. _He had to be here with you. He was hysterical until he saw you. I will move him now he has seen you wake._ I told her not to bother, to leave him there if it did him good, and he sat for hours not taking his eyes off me even the once.

I spoke of the nights I woke with a small body burrowing in the blankets beside me, crying. _Father is out in the dark,_ he would tell me _and I am scared, Laerion. What if he does not come back?_ I would tell him tales of the brave and skillfull warriors who accompanied my father on his trips out to the villages. I would remind him of my father's skill upon the training fields—how none could best him. _He will be alright, Legolas_ I would say. _None can beat Father!_ I did not tell him the very reason I was always home when Father made those trips was in case of his death.

Legolas; precious, brilliant, bright and special, so different from the rest of us, grew to adulthood drenched in loss, and it terrified him.

And it has scarred his spirit.

Finrod believes, as I do, it is the dark of the Greenwood, the endless string of elves who did not return, the death of Iruion and others important to him, my own death years later, living constantly in fear of loss as an elfling, that accounts for Legolas' problems with grief, not the mortals at all. They are merely the last straw.

There is a reason we elves have our children only during times of peace. What happened to Legolas is that reason.

I have not forgotten Iruion, how could I? But I have been careless and forgotten how deeply Legolas loved him.

"Sit," I tell him when I let him go. "Sit and we will talk."

He is still unhappy with me but he sits.

"I do not replace Iruion. How could I ever?"

"Do not humour me, Laerion. I know what I saw. I know also that you are not me. Your heart does not beat to a Silvan beat, it is Sindar through and through. Do not deny it."

"I do admit I am never going to have a life like yours with Maewen and Elrohir. That is not for me, it is true."

"So you replace Iruion with Elladan. It is one or the other!" He is so bitter. It makes me sad.

I must open the doors of my heart to him. I must show him those things I usually keep secret from everyone.

"We used to talk of what we would do if we died, Legolas," I tell him. "Fighting in the South we had to discuss it. Iruion knew I would choose Valinor. I _had_ to. I thought he would too. When I was reborn... it was joyous. I was sure he would be here waiting for me. You have no idea how crushing it was to discover he was not here, that only Mother stood to greet me. And he is _still_ not here."

"Others are not either," he says, "Grandfather for one. Not everyone has been returned to us yet."

"Our Grandfather has atonement to make and lessons to learn. You know that Legolas. What has Iruion to atone for? What would keep him in the halls longer than I was? Why would he choose not to be reborn? I have waited for him. I have been waiting all this time . . . Hoping. But I think he has chosen the land."

"Why would you think that!"

"Because he is not _here._ Where else can he be? And why would he chose the land when he knew I would not follow? I do love him. I always will but I have been waiting all these years and I am _lonely_ Legolas. Yes, there is something between Elladan and I . . . The very beginnings of something. Something soft and gentle and . . . I do not even have a word for it yet. Perhaps it is nothing substantial at all? But it is so _nice_ Legolas, to have someone who cares."

"I care!"

I cannot help but laugh.

"You are my little brother. It is not the same!"

He is silent then, which not a usual state for him.

"Legolas, do you understand?"

"What will you do —" he says eventually, "when Iruion does return. What will you do if you are with Elladan?"

" _If_ Iruion returns I will be honest with you and say I do not know. I do not know if I will _be_ with anyone. I do not know what will happen with Elladan. I do not know if it will be anything at all. Rebirth is lonely, Legolas. Must I always be alone? Can I not even try? Believe me when I say no one can replace Iruion in my heart. Elladan is different."

"And does he know then, about Iruion? Does Elladan know?"

My hesitation gives me away. He knows instantly the answer is no.

"You must tell him."

I have wanted to . . . Oh how I have wanted to but it is frightening.

"You _must_ tell him, Laerion. It is only fair."

He is not wrong.

"Tonight. He is coming to see me tonight. I will tell him then."

"Then I will go." In one smooth movement he leaps to his feet. Always the most graceful of us is my brother. "I have no wish to meet Elladan tonight."

"Legolas—"

"No—" he holds out a hand to stop me before I start, "you do not have to say any more, Laerion. I do not want you to be lonely. It hurts my soul to know you are. What business is it of mine anyway? Forgive my childish temper. It is just . . . I remember that day . . . When you bought him back. I remember how much you loved him, I remember riding on his shoulders while you worked, how he made me laugh . . . And it hurt."

"I remember it all too Legolas, and it does hurt."

"Wherever he is he would not want you lonely either," he says. "I know he loved you too."

He was only a child. In truth he knows very little about the love between Iruion and I and nothing of our differences. He has a child's memories of a child's understandings.

But he is right about this. Iruion would not want me to be unhappy and I have been.

But also Iruion has not loved me enough to find me.

And I can wait no longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Elladan**

Hot-headed and fiery is not how people describe me. That is Elrohir. I am the calm, rational, quiet one. So why I react so badly to Legolas' baiting at dinner I do not know.

When Legolas raised the spectre of Earendil I intended to agree to accompany them, much as I did not want to. Laerion is passionate about it and I have to admit I am curious. Is his theory right? Am I more Man, less Elf than I thought? One visit, I told myself, will not hurt my Father. I do not have to _like_ Earendil just to talk to him.

Then Elrohir leapt to my defence as always and it seemed easier to simply let him.

But suddenly Legolas and Elrohir were squabbling, over me, in front of me. Not what I wanted at all. I know the two of them love turbulence and drama. It is a part of who they are together. But not over me, thank you.

Perhaps it was the nerves churning below the surface? I am terrified of Elrohir's reaction to Laerion and I. I know it will not be good. But suddenly I found myself in the middle of them, shouting insults about Thranduil and Oropher I would normally never say.

"I am also Thranduillion," Laerion said quietly beside me, "I am also of the house of Oropher."

And suddenly I felt sick.

I still feel sick.

What was I thinking? What should I do? We have been existing in a bubble of joyfulness in Alqualondë. There have been no disagreements. I do not know how to fix this.

When I told him I would see him later he smiled. But it was not a brilliant, heartfelt Laerion smile. It was tight and forced, a pretence. And he left without a touch.

I am missing his touch.

And so I hover outside his door unsure and uncertain as I have not been since my youth, trying to become brave enough to knock.

So it is that both Legolas and I are startled when the door opens and he is right there in front of me.

"Elladan." If I thought Laerion was tight and forced then Legolas is worse. No surprise there though. I already know speaking negatively of Oropher is a sure way to get him angry with you.

It is all he says to me as he pushes past me but I am shocked. He is a mess. There are the remains of tears upon his cheeks, his eyes are red. He has been weeping. What has happened? This cannot all be me?

"Legolas, do not go on my account," I call after him as he strides away.

"It is _not_ on your account." He snaps back without even turning to look at me, and I turn to Laerion who now stands quiet and stern beside me.

"What is wrong?" I ask him. "This is not down to me is it?" It seems an over-reaction for a few shouted insults. Perhaps he and Elrohir have argued?

"Yes and no." Laerion says and he turns away. "Come and sit down."

"Yes and no?" I am still stranded at the doorway. "What have I done? Should you not go after him?"

"Elladan," he sighs, "Do not do this. He is alright. I know my brother, I have watched over him since he was small. He does not need me chasing after him now."

I worry though that he does not know Legolas as well as he thinks. He has been missing for so many important moments. My hesitation however, only aggravates.

"Do you doubt me?" He snaps at me tersely. "Do you think me so careless with him I would not pay attention if he needed me?"

"It is just . . . A lot has happened to him in your absence. Perhaps you know him less well . . ."

He throws himself in a chair, kicking the table beside it in frustration. Things are spiraling out of my control when I came to make them better. I begin to realise we do not know each other well at all. Elrohir and Legolas can read each other easily. But here I stand with no idea how to proceed with Laerion.

"Seriously," he says, head in his hands as if it pains him, "you and Elrohir both could do with allowing Legolas to stand on his own two feet. In this I know him better. If you would just sit down I could tell you _why."_

So I do as he tells me and sit, but he does not lift his head.

"I am sorry for what I said earlier." I say awkwardly into the silence. I imagine he is so tense because his anger lingers. "My words about your Grandfather were unforgivable."

"That does not matter." He waves a hand dismissively in my direction. "Legolas started it. I have heard worse."

"But not from _me."_

"I imagine you did not mean it." He shrugs _._ I do not even think he listens to my apology properly _._

"I do not know what else to do to make this better." If my words are not enough what else does he need?

Finally he lifts his head and looks at me with a frown.

"Make what better?"

"You are angry with me, deservedly of course."

"I am not angry with you. "

He could have fooled me.

"You seem angry."

Instead of answering me he pulls himself to his feet, crosses the room to the carafe of wine in the corner and pours us two large glasses.

"Here," He says as he pushes one into my hands. "You might need this."

A chill settles upon me. The flickering of my nerves becomes a crescendo.

"You look as if I handed you a glass of poison. It is good wine, I promise you."

When I look up from my glass there is a wry smile on his face that confuses me.

"I am wondering what you might have to tell me that you think I might need a drink to hear."

He sits himself down opposite me once again.

"Legolas and I were talking about the Greenwood."

It is such a sudden change of topic I am left completely flummoxed. Where did that come from?

"Oh?"

My words have not caught up with my brain. Why are we talking about the Greenwood? Were we not on the verge of an argument or did I imagine that?

"That is why he was upset," he continues. "We were talking of one we lost long ago." It is a dangerous game he plays with Legolas, speaking about loss of any kind. Does he not know that?

"Legolas does not cope well with memories of those he has loved who are now lost to him. Was that wise?"

"Of course it is wise." The edge to his voice which had vanished is now back. "It is what he needs, help to remember. Support while he does so. Hiding away from it does him no good at all."

"I think—" I am about to tell him I think he underestimates Legolas' reaction, that if he has stirred up this hornets nest my brother, and Maewen, will be dealing with the after-effects for weeks.

"I do not _care_ what you think on this, Elladan!" The sudden firmness makes me blink. It is as if Thranduil himself has decided to stride into the midst of our discussion. "Do you realise if you sentence me to never raise the loss of anyone with my brother you leave me with no childhood memories to discuss with him? I do not think you understand what it was like in the Greenwood at all!"

"I just—"

"He cannot live his life pretending half of it did not happen!"

He is right about that. But still . . .

"It is not Legolas I wish to talk with you about anyway." Just like that he sweeps the whole of our burgeoning discussion aside. Perhaps it is just as well or it might only add to our tension. "It is what Legolas and I were _discussing_."

"The Greenwood?" I am not used to feeling so left behind in the middle of a conversation. "As you say, I did not know it."

He gives a heavy sigh. I think I frustrate him. I take a large gulp of the wine in my hand because perhaps he is right —I do need it.

And suddenly his voice drops.

"Not the Greenwood itself but Iruion." He rolls that name around with softness as if it was a prayer.

"Iruion?"

Who _is_ that?

And Laerion takes a deep breath. He looks past me, to a point just over my shoulder. He does not meet my eyes. And my stomach falls.

"Someone I loved. Someone who loved me."

The statement hovers in the tense silence like a weight upon my heart. It crushes the breath from me.

"Someone you loved." I repeat his words back to him. Somehow it makes them hurt more. I had not imagined him never to have loved. It is not as if we have even put a name on this thing between us. But something about the way he said that name makes my blood run cold.

"I need to tell you of him," he says gently. "We were both young in the scheme of things but I loved him deeply. I thought he was my always. I _still_ love him, it is duplicitous to say otherwise. He died in the south when we were on patrol and it was . . . Devastating. Legolas was just a boy, barely even that—so small. Iruion doted on him. Legolas was heartbroken. It was one of the very first of the losses he has lived with."

"Where is he, this . . . Iruion?" The name sticks in my throat as I say it. If this bond between them all is so deep why do I not know of him?

"He is not here. I know not where he is. I expected to see him when I arrived here . . . Nothing. I have waited, first with hope, then with despair . . . Nothing." The painful loneliness evident in his words makes me want to weep for him, much as it hurts me.

"He either waits in the Halls or he has chosen to return to the land. He is in no rush to return to me or perhaps he never will."

The resignation in his voice breaks my heart for him.

"Did he not know you would choose Valinor?"

"Yes he knew."

What can I _say_ to that?

"So you see," he continues, "You need to know of him. What happened in Alqualondë, I did not expect it. I was not looking for it. It was . . . A beautiful surprise." He graces me with a smile then. One of his best. One that melts the ice that has formed in the pit of my stomach and gives me wings.

"It makes me think perhaps Iruion is not my forever. Perhaps he is, but maybe not? I do not know what it is _we_ have or what it will grow to. I do know I want to see what will happen. I want to try. But it is a risk you are taking, if you take me on.

" _Will_ you take me on Elladan?"

Will I?

The words say themselves without me even thinking.

"My brother accuses me of being too cautious," I say, "but suddenly I find I quite look forward to exposing myself to risk."

I smile; he laughs.

"My brother accuses me of overcautiousness too."

The tension that clung to him since I arrived evaporates on the mist. I realise he has not been angry. He has been worried, worried I would walk away.

When he smiles at me as he does now how could I ever do that?

I hope I do not live to regret this moment but this feeling he gives me is not one I can easily toss aside.

"It is early days yet," I tell myself that as much as I tell him. "Let us see what happens. You have been honest with me. I know what I am getting into."

"Know that I am not Legolas. There will be no life such as his with both Maewen and Elrohir. You must know that. It is not me."

How did he know that idea had floated through my mind? I would not have been averse to it either. But if it is not him, it is not him. I do not wish him to be anything other than exactly what he is.

There is just one thing more that concerns me.

"Why were you discussing this with Legolas? It seems a strange thing to suddenly be speaking of, your long dead love?"

"Ah..." that _ah_ does not full me with confidence. "Legolas is ever watchful. He is astute. He has seen right through us and did not like what he saw. He charged in here accusing me of trying to replace Iruion. Now he is calmer he admits it was a childish temper caused by grief."

Legolas has noticed us? _Already?_

"He will go to Elrohir!"

That is not how I wished my brother to find out. That is the _worst_ possible way. An upset Legolas? All that drama? It will whip Elrohir into a storm.

"He will _not_ go to Elrohir with this." Laerion lays a hand upon my knee. He returns his touch to me just when I need it.

"Elrohir is his port in a storm. I saw how distressed he was. That is where he will go." Once again I wonder at just how well Laerion actually knows his own brother.

"He will go to sit under the stars and restore his equilibrium. He is sad. That is not a bad thing. It does not equal distress, it is just sadness Elladan, and he needs to feel it. Legolas is nothing if not honorable. He knows this is for you to tell Elrohir, not him. No matter what he feels about Iruion still he wants me to be happy. He will not jeopardise that."

I wish I had his confidence. I wish I could trust him.

I wish I could trust Legolas.

I wish it, but I do not.


	7. Chapter 7

**Elrohir**

As if the confusing boldness of Elladan, newly returned from Alqualondë, is not enough, Legolas chooses now to behave strangely as well.

My head hurts from trying to make sense of either of them.

Elladan, usually the voice of reason, resorts to shouting insults about Oropher over dinner . . . Why?

Legolas cannot run fast enough away from me when we are out walking—I assume because he is angry about Elladan's tactless comments, and then, when I go to find him in his room later as we agreed he has disappeared.

This is why I have found myself wandering the gardens, in the dark, in search of him. It brings to mind a night in Minas Tirith when he and Aragorn had quarreled about some such minor thing—one of the small details they always managed to irritate themselves with—and Estel came begging my help to track him down. We ended up sitting in the dark, underneath a tree, waiting for Legolas' ire to burn itself out.

I give up my search as I think on it and sit down myself, leaning against the big oak in the middle of our lawn, and try and savour the memory of what it was like that evening long ago with Aragorn sat beside me. It makes me laugh, for Legolas had bombarded him with a shower of acorns one after the other on top of his head in an attempt to get us to move and Estel had steadfastly ignored them.

"What are you laughing about?"

The question floats down to me from the branches above. Damn these silvans and their ability to hide in trees.

"Come down," I call up to him. "It is dark and I am tired."

"Why are you laughing then?"

Did he have to be in _this_ mood tonight?

I hesitate before I answer. Memories are not pleasant for Legolas. He is unable to smile at a remembered joke or get comfort from past merriment and love. Memory for him is only pain. Sometimes I feel suffocated by it. Sometimes I just want to share recollections of my foster brother and my sister, I want to laugh, to bask in good times we have had. I can never do that with Legolas. I must never mention them at all.

Perhaps because I am fed up with the oddness of both he and Elladan tonight I tell the truth.

"I was remembering Aragorn."

I brace myself for the storm, but to my surprise it does not come.

"Ah, Aragorn," He says quietly. "I was just thinking of him. I wish he was here. I need his advice."

He has never admitted to thinking of my Estel at all: never.

"Why were you laughing at him?" he continues. This evening is so strange. Legolas chatting about my brother as if he still lives amongst us and nothing is wrong, and Elladan losing his composure in a very Legolas kind of way.

Perhaps it is actually me who is going mad?

"I was remembering a night we went searching for you in the gardens of Minas Tirith and you threw acorns on his head. He would not give in. He knew you wished him to move but his stubbornness made him sit there amongst a shower of acorns."

"He often did that." Is that a smile I sense in Legolas' voice? It cannot be. "He was so frustrating!"

"Legolas, are you alright?" I ask into the boughs of the tree but he does not answer. He says nothing until he drops down beside me, silent and effortless. In one smooth movement descending to the ground and sitting, legs crossed, next to me. How does he do that?

"I am alright," he says softly, "but I need Aragorn here to talk to."

"Will I do?"

"Aragorn would have pointed me in the right direction," he sighs. "He was good at that."

"Well if I am not wise enough for you there is always Elladan."

He gives a dismissive grunt at that. At least if he thinks my advice so lacking he would rather speak with a ghost, he also does not give Elladan much weight.

"I think _not."_

That sounds very definite.

"You are not still angry about those words about Oropher? It was most unlike him. Likely he will be apologising profusely tomorrow."

"Well I saw him just before," Legolas tells me, "and he had nothing to say then." His voice is tight and clipped as he speaks of my twin, oozing tension. He has obviously not forgiven him.

"Tell me," I say, "tell me what it is you need Aragorn to solve for you and I will do my best." Truth be told I cannot believe we are having this conversation.

He is silent then, for a long time, and so I am also. It was Estel that taught me that. He was a master at reading Legolas. _Sometimes you just have to give him the time to think,_ he said, _and he will get where you want him to go on his own steam without you lecturing him._

He is right as always. Even now Aragorn is still right.

"Laerion is unhappy."

When Legolas finally speaks the subject is not one I am expecting.

"I thought he looked very happy this evening, Legolas. It looked as if Alqualondë agreed with him."

"Not this evening . . . All the time. I have not realised it until now, just how lonely he is."

Many times I have tried to talk to him about Laerion and the way their family hides away from his death and rebirth. If Legolas is only just realising the extend of his brothers isolation then he has not been listening to me.

"And why have you just discovered this now?"

He does not tell me. Instead he changes the subject.

He starts talking about the Greenwood.

"We were talking about one he used to love; Iruion. He was killed in the south. Laerion and he . . . I thought their love was for all time. I was only small. I used to bother them—it must have been irritating—but I would search out my brother, and he would be working, writing reports, so Iruion would carry me on his shoulders, he would wrestle with me, play games, to amuse me until Laerion was finished. I worshiped him."

I have never heard of this Iruion. He has _never_ spoken of him before.

And it seems he has not finished yet.

"I remember the day Laerion and his patrol arrived home, and Iruion was dead."

I can almost see the small boy he must have been then, confused, frightened, shattered.

"Laerion carried him on his horse . . . He was so pale, limp, motionless, Elrohir, and Laerion's face was like ice. It terrified me, both the look on my brother's face and the fact Iruion was gone. I ran and hid. It shames me to think of it now but I did not _know._ All I knew was _my_ sadness. I could not comprehend what it must have been like for Laerion. He had to come and find me for I hid in a place only he knew because I wanted _him,_ I needed him to make it better. But he must have been grieving, how devastated he would have been, and still I dragged him out searching for me. And he came."

"You were only a child, Legolas. Children are selfish creatures. No one would expect you to understand Laerion's loss." I wonder what has sent him off on this strange tangent of thought? "Where is this Iruion now?" I ask. I have never heard or seen him which seems strange.

"He has not been reborn. Laerion is determined he has chosen the land and is gone forever."

"Is that likely?"

"I would have thought not, but what do I know. As you say, I was a child."

"So Laerion believes him lost forever?" It seems that is what he is hinting at. "And that concerns you because it means he is unhappy? What advice was it you wanted from Estel? How to help?"

He picks up a twig from the ground twirling it between his fingers. A sign I have seen often. It means he is anxious or distracted. As he gazes at it he takes a deep, audible breath.

"I want Laerion to be happy. He has sacrificed much for me. But if he loves someone else . . . What of Iruion? It feels a betrayal. I loved Iruion too and I _know_ Laerion does. No one else is here to speak for Iruion. How do I turn my eyes from that?"

The penny drops.

"You think Laerion moves on? You think he has found someone else? I have heard no rumours of that Legolas. Is this something you know for sure or just suspect? Or is just a possibility that may happen in the future?"

He drops his head so his silver gold hair falls like a curtain across his face.

"Does it matter? Does it matter if it is real or only something that might be one day? The question is still the same."

"It matters because one option is worrying about something that may never happen. Even if Laerion believes his love will never return it is a long step from that to finding another, or even wanting to."

"But if he wanted to?"

He is so persistent and I have no idea why he has latched on to this.

"Did he say he has found someone in Alqualondë?" It is the only thing I can think of. But for the life of me I cannot imagine Laerion with one of the Teleri.

"How do you think Aragorn would advise me?" Legolas does not even answer my question. "What do you think he would say on this?"

He is so intense. Suddenly it seems extremely important I get this right. What would my Mannish foster brother have told him? I can picture it in my mind. Aragorn's study in Minas Tirith, Legolas sprawling in a chair, agitating my brother because he had something to discuss but did not know how to broach it. Aragorn's sigh before he admitted defeat, pushed his work aside and came away from the desk to sit by the fire and try to work out what it was his flightly Silvan friend needed to speak about.

When I think on it, it is quite obvious what he would say.

"I know exactly what he would tell you, Legolas, for Elladan and I were foolish enough to nearly lose Estel in our attempts to change _his_ heart. You know that. He would say Laerion will love who he loves. There is no changing it and it is not for you to try. He would say if you love him you will let him find his own way or he will never be happy. That you are not responsible for anything he might choose and it is no betrayal to let his heart go where it must. If Iruion is meant to be he _will_ be."

Legolas rests his head against me. It is a welcome weight upon my shoulder.

"You are right," he sighs, "he would say that . . . And Gimli would tell me I was a crazy elf worrying about things that were not my problem in the first place. That my brother was old enough to live his life perfectly well without my meddling."

"So will you listen to them?" I ask him.

"How can I not?"

It is a joy to me, being able to sit with him under the stars and talk about his friends as we are but I am not sure if I should tell him that or not? In the end, because it all goes so well, I do.

"I enjoy this. I would do it more often if we can."

"Enjoy what?" He lifts his head to give me a quizzical look.

"Talking of Aragorn and Gimli . . . With you."

"I am not sure I enjoy it, but Finrod tells me I must do it."

Finrod . . . Findaráto . . . My uncle has strange and eccentric views. I do not agree with all he tells Legolas. I do not agree at all, but I must admit if he has made this possible I am grateful.

"Of course, Finrod." I say and he sighs.

"Do not start, Elrohir. Do not spoil it all by lecturing me about Finrod."

"I was _actually_ thinking how grateful I am."

"Really?" He is disbelieving and he pulls himself upright, wrapping his arms around his knees while resting his head on them. It is a posture he sits in often and it makes him look so very young.

He sits there in silence until I begin to believe I _have_ ruined it all, but in the end, without looking at me, he speaks.

"There is something I must tell you. I have been thinking on it and you need to know."

It sounds serious.

"What? What do you have to tell me that I do not already know?"

"It is not about me. It is about Elladan."

"Elladan?" That surprises me even more. Elladan is my twin. It is unlikely Legolas can tell me anything new about him. "Do you mean you can explain why he has behaved completely out of character, slandering your family, in front of your brother no less . . . Because I do not understand _that_ and any illumination would be welcome." I smile, but he does not smile back.

"Not that. . . Although perhaps?" He shrugs his shoulders. He is deadly serious and I find I am holding my breath.

"Elrohir—"

Too late I realise perhaps I should actually be worried about this.

"Elrohir . . . Elladan still hears the sea."


	8. Chapter 8

**Elladan**

The banging on the door is urgent and deafening. It jerks me uncomfortably awake from the warmth of sleep.

"Laerion! Let us in!"

Elbereth, it is my brother.

"It is still dark," Laerion mumbles beside me. "Has he lost his mind?"

"Laerion—" It is Legolas calling through the door now, "Elrohir is concerned about Elladan and cannot find him. If you just let us know if you have seen him we will be on our way. Laerion? We do not need to come in and bother you."

Legolas must know full well I am here. He saw me arrive after all.

And beside him Elrohir is not satisfied.

"I want to speak to your brother," I hear him mutter to Legolas. "I want to find out exactly what Elladan told him."

"Yes but it is the middle of the night. You will get more sense if you wait until morning."

"Balrogs flaming tails," Laerion hisses beside me. "What is it with these two?"

"What does he think I told you?" I ask him.

The banging commences again. Elrohir is not good at taking no . . . or silence, for an answer.

"Laerion!" He shouts, "let us in."

"He will break the door down." Laerion sighs as he scrambles out of bed looking about the room. "Here, in here." With two loping strides he is opening the wardrobe. "Hide in here."

"I am not hiding in a wardrobe like an interloper!"

"Do you wish to explain to Elrohir why you are here, in the middle of the night, in the bed?"

No I do not wish that.

"Stop it Elrohir!" It is Legolas again at the door. "Laerion has the most terrible temper if you wake him. It will get you nowhere."

"Do you?" I ask, and he smiles.

"Legolas will only be able to hold him off for so long. Get in here."

And I find myself being unceremoniously shoved into the wardrobe, the door shut in my face.

"And be _quiet."_ Laerion hisses through the crack between the doors. I am there only a matter of seconds before the door opens again and my clothing is deposited on top of me. "The Crown Prince gets used to having to resort to subterfuge occasionally," he grins. "Watch and learn." And then I am back alone in the dark.

This is absurd.

I can hear Laerion striding towards his door. I can hear the door being flung open. I can hear Thranduil in the voice he uses to berate my poor brother.

"What do you think you are doing? What time do you call this?"

"Sorry, brother," Legolas sounds nervous. Perhaps he thinks I might still be in the middle of the room? "Elrohir was wondering if you had possibly seen Elladan or he had mentioned where he might be?"

"I wish to talk to you!" Elrohir talks over the top of him and I can hear footsteps. I try to rearrange myself so I can at least see out between the wardrobe doors but the rustling I create makes me nervous. If there is going to be anything worse than being discovered in Laerion's bed it is being found naked in his wardrobe.

"Oh come right in, Elrohir, feel free." The sarcasm in Laerion's voice makes me smile; so Elrohir is in the room. "It is not as if I were sleeping."

"I need to know exactly what Elladan has told you about his sea-longing!"

How has he heard about that?

I know, of course, exactly how he must have heard of it. Laerion has told Legolas, and Legolas has told Elrohir. I am instantly and unaccountably angry. It is all I can do not to swing open the doors and confront Laerion then and there. Who did he think he was, telling Legolas my secrets, something told to him only because of our closeness? It feels as if he has taken that precious new bond between us and trampled all over it. How dare he?

I know I did not specifically swear him to secrecy but he should have known I wanted it. He should have known.

But it is too late now.

"Oh I am pleased you raise that topic " Laerion is saying, "because _I_ am wanting to know just how the two of you have spent decades here not asking Elladan how he was."

"I have asked him how he was .. . Of course I have!"

"But you did not manage to try and discover the state of his sea-longing."

I am not used to having people argue over me.

"Legolas told me the sea-longing was gone!"

"Legolas told you _his_ sea-longing was gone. There is a difference, Elrohir."

"I saw no signs of it and I know what it was like in Arda!"

"You saw no signs but you did not think to ask?"

The thin streak of light that found its way into my wardrobe prison through the doors disappears suddenly, leaving me in the pitch black which is very disconcerting.

"We are wasting time, Elrohir." Legolas' voice is so near it makes me jump. It seems to come from just beside me. He must be standing right in front of the wardrobe doors. "Elladan is not here. We should look elsewhere if you are concerned."

"I am not done here." There is a pause, before Elrohir speaks again with surprise. "What are you doing over there?"

"Holding up the walls while you argue," Legolas sighs. Surely he does not know I am here? How would he guess that? What gave me away? I have hardly moved yet it feels he stands here deliberately to prevent my discovery.

"Come on, Elrohir," he continues. "If you are worried for him lingering here shouting at my brother is not the way to fix that."

"Why would you suddenly be worried now, after all this time?" There is tension in Laerion's voice. "Years he has had this. Nothing has changed."

"Because he has been to the sea!" Elrohir cries. "I would never have let him go had I known. We have been here before in Arda. He has been to the sea and now he disappears!"

"What do you mean, he has been to the sea then he disappears? . . . Legolas?"

"Do not ask me," Legolas says with no small amount of sarcasm himself. "I was not there. They would not allow it."

"With good reason!" Elrohir cries. "You are right, Legolas. We waste our time here. We should go but I will have more questions for you later, Laerion! You have told me nothing."

"That's as well for I have more to say to _you,_ and I would know what went on in Arda."

"What went on in Arda is none of your business and I wonder why you would it make it so."

"Someone has to make your brother their business for _you_ have surely failed to do so!"

"I have heard enough." Suddenly Legolas propels himself away from the doors allowing the light to return to me. "I am sick of your bickering which is achieving nothing."

Thank goodness I seem to have him on my side in this else Laerion will spill more secrets I do not want told to my brother.

"Elrohir, come." It is as if he snaps his fingers and calls my brother to heel. "I warned you waking Laerion was a bad idea. Let us leave him to his beauty sleep so he might be in a better mood later. Then perhaps the two of you can talk reasonably and something can be achieved for Elladan. Neither of you think of him now."

"I—" My brother begins to protest but Legolas is having none of it.

"You forget, both of you, that the only one here who knows anything of the sea-longing is _me._ We are going _."_

It is a relief to hear the footsteps away from me, the opening and shutting of the door, the room in silence. I almost fall out of my hiding place as Laerion flings the doors open. The Light is blinding and on seeing him the anger I felt before sweeps up to engulf me. I do not look at him but instead gather my clothes from the floor at my feet and hastily attempt to struggle into them.

"Why the rush? They will not be back. Stay a little." Laerion's hand lands gently on my shoulder.

I shrug it off.

"I am going to see my _brother,_ who worries for me."

"It is years too late for him to be worrying. Perhaps letting him think upon this may be a better move."

"Do _not_ criticise him! How dare you? How dare you tell him of my sea-longing?" The dam breaks and it all pours out.

"I did not tell him. Legolas obviously did."

"And you told Legolas! I did not want him to know. I wanted neither of them to know! You had no right."

"You are your own worst enemy, Elladan. I told Legolas because, as he says, he is the only one here to really understand the sea-longing. I told him because he could help us solve your puzzle. And I imagine he told your brother because he thought he should _know._ I do not understand why you would keep something so secret but I am _not_ enabling it. I do not know who is more at fault. You for your secrecy or Elrohir for his blindness!"

He does not understand my brother and I. He does not understand us at all.

"Well you can think on it while I fix things with Elrohir. When I return you can tell me exactly how hopeless we both are." Sarcasm is not something I usually resort to . . . Nor is anger. Somehow it is easier with him, to let it all out rather than hide it all away.

"I did not say you were hopeless." He grabs my arm as I go to push past him. "What happened in Arda?"

"Nothing happened in Arda!" I am _not_ going to tell him the details of that.

"Oh I rather think that must be an understatement."

"You heard Elrohir. I went to the havens. It did not go well for me. Eventually I ran to the sea. They found me. Nothing."

"You went to the havens? What a fool, Elladan."

It is the straw that breaks the camels back. I am no fool.

"I went chasing down _your_ brother because someone had to. Elrohir could not do it alone and I did not see _you_ there when he needed you. Do not insult me when I helped save one of your own!"

He takes a step back.

"I have not heard of that."

That softness, that warmth that floats beneath every word he has for me has gone.

"Perhaps you should speak to your brother then, before you start attacking mine!"

It is chaos. I am unused to anger. I am unused to allowing myself to feel anger. I am definitely unused to expressing it.

Vaguely I feel I have overstepped the mark somehow but I cannot rein it in. The best I can do is leave.

He does not stop me, he does not call after me, and the slamming of the door behind me reverberates through my mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**Elladan**

I hear them before I see them. Their voices carry down the hall floating out of Elrohir's open door.

"Settle down," Legolas is saying. "I saw no signs Elladan was about to flee to the sea. He was positively glowing when he arrived."

"What do you call that scene at dinner then?" I can hear the anxiety behind my brother's tenseness. "Hardly Elladan's normal behaviour to insult your Grandfather so blatantly."

"I started that." Legolas is a voice of calm amongst Elrohir's turmoil which is most unusual. "I insulted your father."

"You have insulted him many, many times before and Elladan has held his tongue. He _always_ holds his tongue. _I_ am the volatile one. It is out of character."

The relief in Elrohir's face as I stride through the door gives me a surge of guilt. _Why?_ I say to myself, _You had no idea Laerion would tell him of the sea-longing. You have every right to sleep wherever and with whoever you wish._ But the guilt still remains.

"Where have you been? Do you know how worried I have been?"

Of course I do know exactly how he has been as I overheard every word hiding in Laerion's closet but I am hardly going to tell him that.

"You look very disheveled, Elladan, as if you got dressed in the dark." Legolas sits in a chair by the fire, long legs stretched out in front of him and he mocks me.

I do my best to ignore him.

"I was star gazing. They are beautiful tonight I was bathing in their light." I say instead, "hardly cause for a search party, Elrohir."

"Since when have you been one to dream under the stars?" Elrohir exclaims, "you make yourself sound like a Silvan. I had no idea where you have gone."

Does he have no idea who I am?

"You know I have a flet, exactly so I _can_ sleep beneath the stars!"

"Did you go out to the flet?" He asked, startled, "I did not think of that. Well you could have _told_ me."

"Since when do I report my every move to you? Have you changed the rules since I have been gone? This is Valinor, Elrohir what on earth is there for you to worry about here?"

"You." he says. "There is _you_ here for me to worry about. Why did you not tell me you still have the sea-longing? Why did you go to Alqualondë knowing that? I have not forgotten what happened in Arda after the Havens, not for a moment, Elladan. How many years have we been here? How could you not have told me this?"

And I remember what Laerion said.

"How could you not have asked?" Seldom, if ever, do I question my brother on his tendency to turn his eyes from my turmoil. I allow it because I know it pains him to see, but perhaps Laerion is right? Perhaps I should no longer let him.

He is pale-faced then.

"That is not fair. I had no reason to suspect you would still have it. You allowed me to think it gone."

"You did not want to see it, as you never want to see the things that trouble me, Elrohir."

"Well . . ." Legolas pushes his chair back and leaps to his feet interrupting me. "I have found you your brother, Elrohir, and now I will be off, since you have no more need for me." He says it as if he alone is responsible for my presence here.

But I am not about to let him off that easily.

"I want you to stay, Legolas."

"Oh no," he holds his hands up defensively. "This is a discussion between brothers. It is not my business. I have my arguments with my own brother to worry about. I do not need yours as well."

"It is not an argument. I am merely stating facts."

"Facts that Elrohir sees differently," he darts an anxious glance at my brother. "I have nothing to add here."

"You have everything to add." I tell him. "Elrohir has raised the subject of my sea-longing. There is no-one who knows the sea-longing better than you. I would have your opinion. I should have sought it long ago."

And he ducks his head.

"I am sorry I have not spoken to you about that. I assumed it would have vanished as mine did. I did not look closely enough either."

"And I assumed yours remained. We both of us are guilty of not speaking when we should."

"I have no opinion to offer you," he sighs then. "I do not know what it could be. The sea roared in my ears when I left Arda until I could hear nothing else. You saw me. And then . . . Just as I set foot upon the shore . . . it vanished. It's disappearance was so sudden, so shocking, I almost fell. It had been holding me up for so long . . . The sea."

I know what he means. Those last few years in Arda it was as if the sea consumed me. As if it was all I was. There was no Elladan left.

"It is not as bad," I reassure both him and my brother. It is self evident and they should know that. If it was as bad as Arda I would not be functioning. "It is just a whisper, a sigh, a niggle that is always in my mind. It is draining and wearying, annoying, but not toxic, not malevolent. And when I am with Elrohir . . . Well he eases it until I can barely hear it, as he has always done."

"But why is it still there at all?" Elrohir cries dropping his head to his hands. "This is not _fair,_ Elladan"

"Laerion has an idea." I tell him, trying to make him feel better. Elrohir feels everything so deeply. Life is either wonderful or terrible to him.

"What would _Laerion_ know of it?" he spits out the words with distaste and his animosity surprises me.

"What would he know? Well he is a thinker. He watched me, he researched, he spoke with the Teleri. His idea has merit I think. He wishes me to go to see Earendil."

"You need Grandmother surely," he replies, "or someone else. Who would know? Olorin perhaps? Earendil may as well be a Man. That is how he feels in any case. He will not know. Laerion is wrong!" He is triumphant.

"I said that." Legolas interrupts before I can attempt to patiently explain Laerion's thought processes. "I said exactly that, Elrohir, when Laerion first told me. Why Earendil? Why not Galadriel? But he has a reason and it makes sense if you think on it."

"No one here knows Earendil better then I!"

He is right about that. My brother's relationship with our grandfather is a treasure to him. Here, living his life in the in the most elven of elven places, my mannish brother has found a kindred spirit. Someone else who yearns for the world of Men. The hours he spends there always leave him relaxed and happy. That Legolas embraces Earendil as well is a joy for him. That I do not has always upset him.

"Laerion believes my sea-longing may not be elven."

And Elrohir splutters to a stop.

" _What?_ "

"He believes it to be a mannish thing. That is why it has not disappeared with my arrival in Valinor as Legolas' did. Inherited from Tuor and Earendil, both of whom seem to have suffered from something similar all their lives."

I expect Elrohir to understand this idea. I expect him to embrace it. As he said, he knows better than any of us Earendil's love of the sea.

"They call Earendil _The Mariner_ after all." I add.

But he shakes his head.

"You are the elven one."

It mirrors what I first said to Laerion myself but despite that, this time, hearing it annoys me.

"Must I _always_ be that Elrohir? Why do we put ourselves in such cages, you as a Man and I as an elf? It is not true. Why do we let others do that to us?"

"It _is_ true. I am the same as our fathers twin. I have always known that. _I_ am the one who struggles with the elven arts but can build and construct like a Man."

"The Noldor are also builders, Elrohir," I say softly, "and you can carve stone or wood with _elven_ skill."

But he will not hear it.

" _I_ am the one with no talent for healing at all. Who disappointed our father all those hours in the Healing Halls because I am only suited for war, like a Man, not repairing the effects of war, as an elf."

"There are plenty of our line who were warriors and not healers, Elrohir. What of Findekáno? There are Men who are talented healers. What of our Estel? These things are not so rigid as we have made them."

He is defiant. This idea has upset him beyond anything I imagined. When did I stop understanding my brother, my twin?

"You cannot take this from me!" He cries. "I have nothing else. This is _mine._ I am the one who takes after Elros. I am the one with the affinity for Men, and I have suffered for it. You cannot decide you want that too now I finally have something good because of it. You have everything else! Your sea-longing is elven as you _always_ have been!"

"I do not wish to take _anything_ from you. It is not about that Elrohir—"

I try to reach out and touch him, to reassure, but he pushes me away. It is Legolas who grasps hold of him. Thank goodness I asked him to stay.

"Elrohir," He says firmly, placing himself between us, holding my brother's face between his hands so he sees only him. "You are more than this one thing. I have been telling you that for years."

"It is my mannishness you love," Elrohir replies, "you have always said that. Without that what am I?"

"Admitting Elladan's sea-longing may be a mannish affliction takes nothing from you. It does not change the brightness of your soul. It does not affect my love for you. There is so much more to you, so much that is elven. It saddens me you do not recognise it."

"Being like Elros was the only way my father ever _saw_ me. Anything elven about me was always disappointing."

"It does not disappoint _me."_ Legolas is totally, utterly convincing as he says this. "If you need it I shall list all the things, but we shall be here all day for there are so many reasons why you are glorious _and_ elven."

My brother and Legolas have been together a long time now. Legolas has been broken and Elrohir, slowly, painfully, has helped put him back together and patched up the cracks. It has seemed to me a one way thing and I have worried Elrohir invests so much for so little reward.

I have never before seen _this._ I have not understood how Legolas shines a light on the beauty that is my misunderstood brother and allows him to see it. Somehow he magnifies the Elrohir _I_ know, that no one else, even Elrohir himself, understands.

"What _will_ disappoint me," Legolas says quietly then, "is if your fear prevents you from listening to this. Know you will never seem less to me. Elladan needs your help. It is no threat to you, or our love, to admit he may be just as much of a mix of blood as you."

"I do not wish to take Earendil from you," I say. "I know he is special and Elbereth knows I have my own issues with him. I just want to speak with him, for advice. He may say it is all nonsense, Elrohir, and that I am as we have always thought I am."

I am not sure Elrohir hears it. I am not sure he hears anything but an attack on the fragile sense of worthiness he has painstakingly built himself.

"You have given us a lot to think on, Elladan," Legolas says when Elrohir does not respond. "Perhaps some time now, to dwell on it alone?"

He means the two of _them_ alone for I know he will not leave Elrohir by himself to churn over this.

Never in a million years did I imagine this conversation would be as distressing as this.

"Very well."

Leaving is possibly the only sensible thing I can do.

"Elladan," It is Legolas who calls out to me as I reach the door, not my brother. "Will you be safe? Are you well?"

"Do not worry about me," I tell him. For I know where I _will_ be well and that is where I head.

Laerion's door, when I get there, is ajar. His room is empty and in a mess that is incongruous to Laerion's organised tidy mind. A chair is on its side, items scattered about the room. It looks as Elrohir's does after one of his rages and it gives me pause. What has happened here?

It takes me hours to find him. It underlines once again how little I know him. I have no idea where he would flee for sanctuary. I know better where to find Legolas in a time of strife than he.

As it turns out he is at the river and the sun is high in the sky before I finally spot him. He sits by the waters edge, feet dangling in the current throwing pebbles across to the other side with varying amounts of force alternating between fury and despondency.

"So here you are!" I call keeping my voice as light as I can make it. "I have spent the morning searching."

He does not turn, he does not acknowledge me, but he ceases his aimless throwing in an instant and is still.

"I was beginning to get concerned." I add when he does not answer.

And he turns on me.

"Do not ever, _ever,_ do that to me again!"

"Do what?"

I scroll through our last conversation in my head. I was angry. He spilled my secrets to his brother. So I am not allowed to lose my temper now?

"Do not ever throw my death back in my face! Do you think it does not tear me apart to know I was absent for Legolas during the difficulties of his life? Do you think I _wanted_ you to have to put yourself in danger for him? To do my job for me? Do you think I wanted not to be there? What would you have had me do, Elladan? Step aside to save myself and have him die on the ground in the Greenwood as little more than a child? What would you have me do instead? Tell me for I would really like to know."

Too late I remember the last few sentences of our conversation.

"I am sorry. I was angry. I did not mean that, Laerion." I am horrified at myself. I _know_ how much this death and rebirth has affected him. Perhaps I alone know of everyone. Why did I do that?

"My death has affected my family so badly," he says. "The ripples it has caused have turned into destruction. I need no more guilt about that from you. I will not tolerate it, Elladan. Be angry with me all you like but that is a step too far."

"It is a step I never wanted to take. I am not used to allowing myself to _be_ angry, Laerion but that is no excuse. It will not happen again."

When I look down my hands are shaking. Why? I clench them into fists to stop it.

And he sighs.

"If you feel I have wronged you then tell me. Be as upset with me as you like. I have grown up weathering a family full of temper and sharp thoughtless words. I do not want you censoring yourself on my account. But not that. Elladan. It is a tool you cannot use to hurt, for the hurt is too deep and I cannot change it in any case."

I picture that room of his in my mind, the careless destruction that is so unlike him. It must have been rage at the unfairness of his early death, the loss of a role in his brother's life, the damage to those he loved. And I carelessly used that against him. I feel sick.

I am so consumed by it I almost miss the fact he is still speaking.

"I am sorry I told Legolas about your sea-longing, or at least that I did not prevent his speaking with Elrohir. You deserved to be able to tell your brother this yourself. It is right you are angry. I would have been, had the positions been reversed."

"It does not matter."

It seems, in the face of what I have done, to be a small thing.

"It _does_ matter, Elladan. It is not alright to make yourself invisible. It is not alright to pretend your hurt does not mean anything. You have hurt me and I have hurt you in turn. We both have lessons to learn here. I will _not_ have you subverting your feelings on my account. That is not what I want. I want honesty. I want to know when you are angry. But my absence from Legolas' life is off limits. Use anything you like, but not that."

I feel awkward as I stand there. I do not know where to go from here. Should I stay, or leave?

"Do you want me to go?"

For the first time since my arrival he smiles. Tired and weary but still a smile.

"No I do _not_ want you to go. Come and sit here and be with me. I am churning with memory and frustration. Come and smooth the rough edges for me."

And so I do. I sit myself beside him. I take off my boots and let my feet dip in the water as he does. I put my arm across his shoulder.

"I am sorry." I say because I am with all my heart. "I am realising I know you not at all. . . not enough."

"Then we have a wonderful journey ahead of us discovering it all." He says. "How boring to know each other's every thought so soon." He turns to me with serious eyes. "How are our brothers then?"

He said he wanted honesty so I give it to him.

"A disaster. An unmitigated disaster, that is how they are . . . Or mine at least. And he does not even know of us yet."

"The worst is still ahead of us then." He sighs. "Still it is worth it, Elladan. At least, I hope you still agree."

"It is more than worth it."

And strangely enough I have no doubts about that at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Elladan**

I am an expert at not being all I appear. Or rather, being _more_ than I appear. I am calm and quiet, deep and measured. That is what they all think anyway. That is what they expect of me.

But underneath that still, composed exterior often is a raging whirlpool. It is just nobody sees it. Nobody looks for it.

Laerion does.

"So," he smiles softly as we sit upon the bank. "Since you feel we do not know each other well enough why do we not start with the Grey Havens, Elladan?"

I cannot tell him all about that. Some of it, yes. But not all of it.

"I have already told you. I went. It did not go well. I am still here to tell the tale."

"You went and it did not go well," he repeats. "Which seems to have left your brother terrified of the thought you should ever go near water again. What are you not telling me? Or is he simply over-reacting?"

"You do not understand Elrohir. You do not understand Elrohir and I."

"Well I fully admit that," he says, and he lies himself back on the grass, tilting his head to the sun as if he has not a care in the world. "Tell me then. _Make_ me understand him."

How to explain my brother?

"When people see Elrohir all they see is ferocity, his volatility, his temper. But that is not him at all. It is his shield. Elrohir _feel_ s. He is intensity. Everything strikes right into his core. He is never half-hearted or ambivalent. He is passionate, about _everything,_ good or bad. Nobody sees that. If you take him at face value he is fierce and uncompromising but inside, he hurts, he loves, he is joyful and he is distraught."

"If you take Elladan at face value he is calm and composed," he says, "An oasis amongst the chaos. What lies behind _Elladan's_ shield?"

I shrug my shoulders. It is too difficult to describe.

"Nothing," I say, "I am as you see me."

" _Really?_ " He sits up and he grins at me. "Well you could have fooled me. That has not been my experience at all."

He makes me laugh. But the look he gives me afterwards is a measured one.

"I have all the time in the world to discover the real Elladan, but I _know_ he is passionate also."

"The real Elladan _is_ calm and thoughtful," I smile but I am serious. "Just perhaps not always as calm and thoughtful as others think him."

"Tell me details," he says then. "Do not just flick over it with a word or two. You want me to understand the Elrohir who charged into my room last night in a panic for you? Then tell me why that was so."

Where to start?

"We thought we had it planned." I say in the end. "Elrohir, Erynion, Thranduil and I, we thought we had come up with a foolproof way to ensure Legolas' safety. But we did not count on his foolish single-mindedness."

"My father?" Laerion frowns at me. "What did he have to do with this?"

"He had everything to do with it. He was leaving."

"What happened?" All of Laerion's previous relaxed amusement has gone. He is a picture of tension now.

"We knew it would be challenging for Legolas. He and I both had been struggling . . . Though perhaps his struggle was more apparent. Thranduil and Elrohir wrote for months about it."

"Then why did my father chose then to leave!"

"His people needed him to. He delayed as long as he could. They wanted to go. King first and father second, Laerion."

"Ah, well I know how that is."

It is a statement full of regret, and it makes me wonder . . . What was childhood like for _him?_

"We were to meet Legolas in the Greenwood. Elrohir and I," I continue. "He was bringing those of his people who wished to depart with the Sindar or had loved ones to farewell. Thranduil would depart from there and we would escort Legolas back to Gondor, or to Imladris . . . One or the other—wherever was safest—as soon as Thranduil left. What could go wrong? We would, all of us, have him under complete control."

"Except Legolas is impossible to ever have under complete control."

"Yes well we know that now."

"What did Legolas have to say about this?" Laerion asks.

"He knew what was planned. He knew he would need help to survive Thranduil's departure intact. He agreed. But when push came to shove, the sea won, and he ran to the Havens after his father. He was far from his right mind then. What choice did we have but to follow him."

"Well I hardly think _you_ were the appropriate choice, Elladan."

"Who else then? Elrohir had to go. He has this effect . . . Just being in the same room as him eases the call of the sea. No one else would be able to cut through the noise of the waves to reach Legolas. And if Elrohir went, I went."

"You are not completely inseparable, Elladan!"

"No we are not. I am well aware of that." He does not understand. How could he, he was long gone by this time. "Legolas had a head start on us. We fully expected him to be gone when we got there . . . Well _I_ did anyway. How could I let Elrohir go alone to find Legolas had deserted him for the sea? How could I _not_ go? I could not let him do that alone."

"He should have made sure you did. He should have taken someone else, Elladan."

"There _was_ no one else _."_

I do not wish to argue with him again but I will not give way on this point. What kind of man would I have been if I let my brother do that on his own?

"In the end," I say, "it never came to that. Legolas somehow managed to gather enough sense that he did not follow your father all the way. We found him . . . In a state, but still with us. He has never explained to me how he did it—manage to remain—and I cannot imagine the strength it took, for travelling so close to the sea destroyed _me._ I did not recover. The sea chewed me up and spat me out. I resented my brother, my sister, Aragorn, Legolas, everyone who held me in Arda. It was torment.

"When we got back to Gondor I gave in. I took myself off, I ran away from them all, and I can remember none of it save flashes of being drenched in salt and sea spray. I was found in time, dragged half dead from the water. I remember none of that. That is why Elrohir was so frightened."

It is not the whole truth, but I think it is enough of it.

And he is quiet when I finish, for the longest time.

"I wish I had been there," he says in the end, "for you _and_ Legolas. I should have been there. I could have helped him with that, helped my father."

"It is not your fault that you were not."

"Not my fault, no. But as far as my brother goes, life is a constant regret that things did not happen differently."

He lies himself back down and closes his eyes and I do not know what it is he thinks of. A strand of golden hair falls across his face, and I reach out to brush it clear, fingers lingering upon the warmth of his skin.

"So I have found you."

The sound of Legolas' voice makes me jump and I pull my fingers back from Laerion's skin as if it burns.

"Do not stop on my account," Legolas says, and there is a hint of sarcasm there to my mind. "If you have been hiding in my brother's closet, Elladan then I assume you have been up to more than stroking his hair."

He makes me blush. I feel as embarrassed as a young man caught with a first love. But Laerion does not move. He lies where he is, eyes closed, and Legolas gives him a searching look, head tilted to the side as he always does when he contemplates something, before he sits down next to us, legs curled underneath him.

"Where is Elrohir?" I ask him.

"Walking. Clearing his head. He needed space and so I have given it to him."

I sigh then.

"I had no idea he would react so badly."

"Did you not?" Legolas frowns. "He has spent his whole life ensuring his mannishness became his whole identity. Long have I argued against it but you have aided and abetted him in that."

"I thought he might understand the sea-longing may be a mannish trait, and embrace it."

"Elrohir believes you have so much already, Elladan. You have all the talent. He is not right of course but I can never get him to acknowledge the talents he has. His fea healing for example. He steadfastly refuses to see it. Earendil has been so good for him. He has helped Elrohir realise leaning towards the world of Men is not a bad thing. Earendil speaks about Elros with love. He describes all his abilities and his worthiness. He makes Elrohir himself feel worthy, since he has—in his mind—made himself and Elros one and the same. You would know this if you had bothered to come and see their relationship for yourself."

"I know it anyway. I do not need to see Elrohir with Earendil to understand the good my brother knowing him has done!"

"If the two of you would stop arguing about who knows Elrohir Elrondion best, we may actually get somewhere."

Laerion makes us both jump when he speaks, yet he still does not move, nor does he open his eyes.

"Elladan has never seen Elrohir for who he is." Legolas says stubbornly. "He works against me when I try to make him more open to the wonder of his elvishness. The two of them are as bad as each other over this!"

"I _do_ see him! I have known him for centuries before you, Legolas!" I will not have him disparage my bond with my twin.

"But the two of you have entrapped yourselves in cages of your own making." Laerion says softly, "and now we pay the price for that, Elladan. I listened to your explanation of Elrohir's behaviour. Now you listen to Legolas'"

"My Father has always put Elros up on a pedestal. We lived our whole lives with Elros being the thing Elrond's world revolved around. Elrohir did not need Earendil to give him worth because he identifies with fathers twin! Elros is _everything_ in my family."

"Your Father has put Elros on a pedestal as a symbol of pain!" Legolas cries. "He has taught Elrohir his mannish abilities are something to fear. That he must hide them, for to see them causes pain to others. He taught him _you_ were more worthy because you have always been so obviously elven. He may not have meant to do that, but that is what has happened. Earendil has helped him see Elros for the child he once was. Someone good and worthy in his own right, separate from Elrond."

It hurts to hear this but I know it is true. I know Father inadvertently made Elrohir feel he was less and I was more because to see me being elven did not hurt him, while seeing Elrohir loving the world of Man terrified him.

"So now we discover we are the same all along," I say. "I may have an affliction of Man. I am not the son my father thought I was. That should make Elrohir feel better, surely."

"If you had been to Earendil—"

"Legolas!" For the first time Laerion opens his eyes and they are flashing. "You have over-laboured that point. We both _know_ Elladan's lack of contact with his grandfather has consequences. Leave it and tell us something useful or do not speak at all."

It has been an age since I last heard someone speak to Legolas that firmly. Aragorn would do it, but only if the subject was right or it would explode in his face. Gimli, perhaps, was the only one.

But the storm I am expecting does not come.

"I apologise." Legolas says it reluctantly, curtly but still he says it. He takes a deep breath and when he turns to me his voice is softer.

"A love of the sea is the only thing Earendil and Elrohir do not share. If you could see—" he cuts himself short before beginning again, "The sea makes Earendil shine. He is a different man when he is out upon it. He lives and breaths it, he is transformed. And Elrohir has tried .. . Oh how he has tried, to capture that for himself. He has been on the boats time and again but he does not shine. He is clumsy and awkward and he enjoys it not at all. He cannot even learn to love it. I imagine—" he drops his head then, looking at his fingers as they twist the cuff of his shirt into spirals, "I imagine it is somewhat like his struggles to learn to be a healer in his youth. So Elrohir leaves me to go out in the boat with Earendil and he watches from the shore. That you may have been gifted with that love .. . That you may, even though you choose to shun him, be able to capture that joy with Earendil, while he can only watch . . . Oh it hurts Elrohir deeply."

"Does that not sound like you, Elladan!" Laerion exclaims, "That lightness on the sea?" He is excited by it but I am mortified. It is an illuminating moment for I can remember clearly Elrohir's struggles to learn the art of healing. I know the crushing disappointment when he failed as I succeeded. I know how desperately he wanted it. For that to happen again. . . It is unthinkable.

"It is so unfair," I tell them. "It is Elrohir's turn to have the gifts. I have enough of them."

"So does Elrohir," replies Legolas defensively, "but he does not see them and he does not value those he has."

"Well that is _your_ job, Legolas." Laerion props himself up upon his elbows to look over at Legolas. "To make him. To shine a light upon him so that he sees his true self. You have taken much help yourself from Elrohir. It is time to give back and help him accept this."

"You think I have not been trying all these years?" Legolas snaps back. "I have run out of ideas to get him to see his own value!"

"What I saw last night—" Laerion frowns, "—was not shining any light. Your words were too sharp. Less of that, Legolas."

It is eye-opening seeing these brothers together. A window into a different Legolas, seemingly one that will take criticism and frank opinion.

"That is true," Legolas sighs. "Elrohir and I are not in the best of places at the moment. We have become stuck in bad habits. I do not know how to change it. He wraps me in cottonwool, I fight against it."

I had no idea there were problems between these two. It is so difficult sometimes to pick it for they do both seem to enjoy their fiery exchanges.

"I will speak with him if you like." I suggest but Legolas shakes his head.

"Not at the moment. Right now you are the wrong one to talk to Elrohir about contentious issues." He tosses his head in the air as if casting it all aside. "It does not matter," he says.

But Laerion is having none of it.

"You are not happy, little one. Neither of you, I think, and so it _does_ matter."

"We were broken apart over Finrod," Legolas sighs, "and that is not yet properly mended. And Elrohir does not know what to do with the stronger Legolas Finrod has handed back to him. Sometimes I wonder if he does not prefer me damaged."

I will _not_ have him thinking that.

"That is not true. He rejoices in your happiness. All he wants is for you to be well!"

"But he only knows how to be with me when I am _unwell."_

"And you only know how to be with him when you need help. Fault on both sides, Legolas." Laerion chips in.

And suddenly Legolas has had enough. He leaps to his feet and he smiles though judging by his words it is obviously not genuine.

"Enough of this." he says. "I will go and find him. He has had long enough to brood. I will leave you to whatever it was you were doing when I got here, Elladan."

He leaves us with his laugh ringing softly in our ears, but Laerion watches him with concern as he goes.

"Do not be fooled by that lightness," he tells me. "It is not real. I am worried about them."

I have _not_ been, not in the slightest.

But now I am.


	11. Chapter 11

**Legolas**

I know something is wrong the instant I awaken. The bed is cold beside me.

Elrohir is still in the room. I can hear him. He is as noisy as Gimli sometimes could be as he thuds around in the dark.

"What are you doing?"

"Did I wake you? Sorry," he mutters. "I am trying to find my shirt."

"What for?" I can see his glow now, across the other side of the room as he fumbles with something and then suddenly the lamp flickers into life.

"I have been thinking on it for hours. I behaved terribly earlier. I owe Elladan an apology."

"Not now, Elrohir. It is the middle of the night!"

I am not doing this again. Elladan is likely with my brother, or my brother is with him. Either option is not a good one as far as Elrohir is concerned.

"We did this last night, Elrohir. I do not wish to go running around waking people again. Yes you do owe him an apology but at least give it in the morning."

"I do not need you to accompany me to see my brother," he grumbles as he finally located his shirt. "Stay here. He will not mind if I wake him. It is what we do."

"Then perhaps it should be what you do not do, Elrohir. Let him sleep, be patient and wait." For I have a sneaking suspicion Elladan will mind, very much.

He will not listen . . . Of course. It is all I can do to remember Laerion's admonishment of my sharp words earlier and hold my tongue.

"I need to do this now," He says. "It is eating me up."

"But it is not eating Elladan up as he is likely sleeping. I saw him earlier, Elrohir and spoke to him. He understands. Yes you need to apologise but he is not lying awake worrying you have insulted him, I promise."

I may as well waste my breath and a part of me wonders if I should not just let him go. Let him discover them if he insists on it. But that is not charitable or loving of me. It would go badly for them all.

Still I know Elrohir, and I know nothing will stop him now he has this idea in his head. I know also he is right. The twins are so close they think nothing of waking each other if something is troubling them. As long as I have known them Elrohir has never had to think twice about Elladan's availability. Now he will have to learn to. I know my brother. I know he is not a fickle Silvan as I am. If he has embarked upon this he is serious. It is not just a fleeting thing. Laerion is going nowhere.

The only thing I can do to steer Elrohir away from this focus on Elladan tonight is distraction: distracting him with us.

He is not the only one to have lain in bed thinking. I have been doing it also. My talk with Laerion and Elladan unsettled me. The words I had never dared to dwell on simply arrived in my mouth and now I cannot tear my mind from them. I did not mean to speak them aloud. I certainly never meant to tell them to Elrohir.

But they will stop him charging off to find Elladan. I know they will. Protecting my brother gives me the courage I need to speak my mind.

"Elrohir," He has his back to me, his hand upon the door handle as I start.

"What?"

"Do you like me as I am now? Or would you prefer a Legolas who was less whole?"

"What?"

His hand drops from the doorway and when he turns to face me his face is white, his eyes disbelieving.

"What did you just say?"

Since my accident in Minas Tirith I have had problems with words. I cannot write them and sometimes, when all is tense or I am nervous, I cannot find them to speak either. It is as if they disappear from my brain. The thoughts are there inside my head but the words to tell others have vanished. Looking at Elrohir's horrified face it is like that now.

Finrod has skilfully weaved my fea back together, but this damage to my mind he tells me he can never fix.

"I have been worried, " I say in the end. "you are not happy with me the way I now am."

It is not enough. It does not tell him truth of it. It falls far short.

"How can you say that? How can you think that?" he repeats. "That is not fair, Legolas."

This is why we have not spoken properly about the awkwardness that exists between us, because I cannot do it. So we ignore it and pretend it is not there as Elrohir is want to do with anything challenging and difficult. And when I do not answer because I am struggling to line up words in my head he gets angry. He thinks I am wilfully silent.

"You cannot just sit there and say nothing after a statement as hurtful as that!" He cries. "What have I ever done to make you think that?"

 _Suffocated me, been unable to let me stand on my own two feet, wrapped up the new, steadier, Legolas in your animosity towards Finrod and refused to embrace and rejoice in him so I feel somehow tainted and disappointing_.

None of that I can put into words.

"It was the damaged me you fell in love with. It is not as if we have ever been together while I am healthy and myself. Perhaps that does not work for you? You did not love me before Minas Tirith, Perhaps you will not again after the destruction left over from that has cleared?"

"Have you forgotten the Black Gates?"

Of course I have not. There are moments in my life where my very world has tilted on itself. Elrohir and I at the Black Gates was one of those moments.

"No I have not forgotten that."

"Then to say I have only loved you since your accident is wrong and you know it. I was transfixed by you from the moment I saw you. You know that. I have told you that." He is furious and I cannot get a word in edgewise even if I could think of them. "You have nothing to worry about but perhaps I do? What did you feel before the Black Gates? What did you feel before Minas Tirith?"

"I —"

But I am too slow. He cuts me off.

"Do you think I do not notice I irritate you? You think your sharp tongue does not hurt? Are you sitting here wishing you could go home to Maewen who I know you did love before your accident? Do you have any use for me now?"

I have no hope to answer any of these questions, not eloquently. I would like to try. I know what I would say.

I would tell him the time before we found each other was turbulent, tempestuous and explosive. But also beyond exciting. I got a thrill every time he stepped into the room, even if I knew he would just throw insults at me. I would tell him I could not stop watching him all the way to the Pelennor. I would tell him I do not have a 'use' for him. He is beyond that. He is the light that fires my soul. He is not something I could ever survive without. I can no longer imagine my world without him. It would be filled with darkness and misery without his light.

But I can say none of that.

I can say none of it because all the words in my head will not travel to my tongue and it frustrates me beyond measure. I can say none of it because my damage strangles me into silence. Then when things are lighter between us and we are happy, it would simply be odd to say them.

So it remains unsaid.

And my silence as I try to think of something he will be able to hear just aggravates things.

I should tell him. I should try to explain my inability to chose the right words when I am upset, or tense, or anxious. But I cannot do that in the moment . . . And later when all is good, and I can talk as well as anyone, I do not wish to waste time on it. I would rather it did not exist at all to be honest. Ignoring the problem always seems best then. Because next time . . . Maybe . . . It may not happen.

But it always does.

"Do not go!" I cry as he turns my back on me in anger and throws open the door. "Do not go, Elrohir!"

"Why?" he says, "Are you not sick of me? Give me one reason I should stay when you think so little of me."

"Because I want you to."

He hesitates. He wants to leave because he is angry and hurt and there is nothing that would be more satisfying than the slamming of the door. But he does not leave because I have asked him to stay.

"But why do you want me to, Legolas? I need to know."

If he would just give me the space and the time I could tell him. But he is Elrohir. He is fire and impatience. He is impetuousity and passion and I love him for it. I love him with every fibre of my being. But those things I love mean he is no good at giving considered thoughtful space when we argue.

"Because I love you."

His shoulders drop in disappointment. He wanted more than that.

"That is an easy answer to say," he replies, "when you do not mean it."

Finrod has spent many hours with me reinforcing the cracks in my fea Gimli had previously and painstakingly patched back together. He has strengthened and smoothed them until you can barely see they were ever there, until I almost forget them myself. He has taught me ways to overcome them, to direct my thoughts and regain my control. But still the odd word, coming at me from nowhere, can still get through my defences and undo me.

The thought Elrohir believes I may not love him does just that.

It piles upon my frustration at my lack of communication and splits me apart.

Before I know it there are tears running down my cheeks and all my new strength collapses in a heap. And Elrohir does what Elrohir always does, what he is best at, what he knows. He comes to me. He holds me. He pours his light over me.

"Forgive me," he murmurs in my ear as he holds me. "I know you love me. I should not have said that. Let me fix it."

It is completely dispiriting which adds to my distress and to his determination to protect me. We are stuck.

I do not want to be the one who is always sheltered and coddled yet I have played myself in a corner where he has reason to do that. I want him to tell me to pull myself together. I want him to hold me accountable so moments of weakness and tears do not let me off the hook. I do not want to always be the weak one he steps in protect.

I am weak no longer and I am sick of that.

I enjoy his touch. I love his light.

But I am filled with disillusionment and despair for this is a familiar scene, with familiar roles we have played out so many times beforehand and we are unable to do anything differently.

Laerion is right. Elrohir only knows how to mend me and shield me and I only know how to let him.

How do we change this?

Can we?


	12. Chapter 12

**Laerion**

When people ask me what death is like I tell them it is lonely.

Not that they ask me that very often. I can count on one hand the people who have. My nephew and niece, but they are children and almost do not count, Maewen, and now Elladan. Legolas has never asked, not even a word. Nor has my father.

Not only death is lonely but a life reborn is also.

So when I wake and there is a warm body beside me, when the morning sun falls across Elladan's handsome face still sleeping next to me, my heart leaps. He is beautiful inside and out. It is trite and cliched but it is true. I lie there and realise, someone cares for me. It is unimaginable and somewhat unreal.

I cannot help but touch him, a finger gently sliding across his cheek feeling the warmth of his skin. He is real.

I feel transformed. I feel so joyful there is no room for it within my fea and it bursts out of me to soar to the sun.

Of course my touch awakens him. He blinks as I watch and slowly he focuses on my face; then he smiles.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking you are real."

He laughs.

"Why would I not be?"

"Because you are too beautiful to be here with me."

And then he laughs harder.

"So says one who is only a shade less majestic than Thranduil! I do not hold candle to you, Laerion."

He is a fool.

"I am somewhat less magnificent than my Father and have much less pure beauty than my brother. I am the ordinary one, Elladan. The one that quietly holds it all together."

"Not ordinary to me."

I can only laugh. Next to my magnificent father and enchanting brother I am very ordinary indeed. I do not mind it but I know it.

"What was it like," Elladan asks as I sit up and reach over for my shirt. "growing up in the Greenwood?"

It takes me by surprise. No one ever asks of the Greenwood. We Sindar and Silvan already know it and the Noldor do not care.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I realised I do not know, and I should know," he says. "I want to know as much as I can about you. How else can I understand you? Tell me."

"The Greenwood was . . ." I struggle to find the right word to describe my home. "wild, dark, glorious."

But Elladan shakes his head.

"I do not want a summary, or a description. Tell me your story Laerion. What was it like as a child for you?"

No-one ever wants to know my story.

"It was blissful." I tell him, and it really was.

But I can tell by the look in his eyes he does not believe me and he sighs.

"The real story, Laerion."

"That _is_ the real story. It was a perfect childhood. My grandfather was alive, the woods were healthy, my parents were happy. My father was not King, only a prince, so my mother had the freedom she needed. I grew up basking in the sun, running through the grass, the apple of my grandfather's eye. My father had the time to spend with me, teaching, helping me grow. My mother took me out to the Silvan, to my other grandparents, and though I was never Silvan in my nature still I loved it. I had a perfect childhood, Elladan, until the Last Alliance tore it all apart."

His eyes are serious as he watches me.

"My father and grandfather went to war, a Noldor war, and only my father returned . . . And he was not the same. He was King and just like that I was catapulted out of what remained of my childhood and into the role of a Crown Prince in a dangerous land. I loved my grandfather. I know to you and the rest of the Noldor he is simply an example of folly to be mocked. I know his errors were grievous. But to me he was my hero. Someone who shone a light upon me, who was proud of me. I still miss him."

"I am sorry," he says gently, "for my words the other night. I am sorry for suggesting he was less . . . You were less for being Oropherion."

And I shrug.

"My family has a temper. I know that. Sharp and accurate as a well honed blade in my father. Chaotic, and surprising in my brother. It is Orophorion. Legolas deserved your censure. He needs to learn to curb his tongue. It is only pride, or perhaps the need to defend our father, that drives him. He never knew my grandfather. He was born too late."

For Legolas arrived well after the Last Alliance, long after my grandfather's death. He knows him only from my father's stories.

"Legolas was a light born into darkness." I tell Elladan. "I do not know what my parents were thinking. Perhaps, as things fell apart between them they thought that might erase all those issues . . . An elfling . . . Whatever, they were fools. It was the worst possible time for him to be born.

"My father struggled to hold the Sindar and Silvan together after the slaughter. The dark edged ever closer and so we began another war, with no help from the Noldor. It was clear we were on our own. We had to retreat from the land the Silvan loved and give it up to the dark. Father had no time to nurture a small light-filled boy, much as he loved him.

"My mother hated being queen. It did not suit her. She resented being held in the keep and kicked against it. She became more flighty, more volatile. She mourned their old life and ran to her Silvan village frequently. She was an exciting, devoted mother to my small brother, intense and adoring, and then she would be gone . . . For days . . . With no warning. Poor Legolas never knew if she would be there to greet him in the morning or not."

"What happened then?" Elladan leans forward to ask. "Who cared for Legolas?"

"I did. At least I tried to. I tried to be his consistency and his rock. But I was a soldier by then and so I was often absent also. I did my best but there were far too many periods when I was away and he was adrift. My father was guilty of letting him run wild. He could not bear the thought of stifling that luminosity. My mother was attentive but inconsistent and never the best at discipline."

Elladan stares at me intently. He is listening. I have never told this story to anyone interested in hearing it before, save Finrod, and I wonder . . . Should I tell him my theories on Legolas' struggles with grief? Will he hear them too?

He is a healer, intuitive, thoughtful, what is there to lose?

"Trying to protect Legolas as he grew was like cupping your hands around the last flame in the midst of a gale to keep it burning. It was an impossible task, and I failed."

"You did not fail. He is here, strong and healthy."

"I know you and Elrohir, my parents, your father, even Galadriel believe it is my brother's unwise love of mortals that has caused the problems with grief that tear him apart now. That seems reasonable and obvious but I think that grief for his mortal friends is a symptom, not a cause."

"What do you mean?" Elladan narrows his eyes in concentration. "A symptom of what?"

"Legolas was always special. He shone with a pure light right from the start, yet he was born into a world of darkness and as much as I tried I could not save him from that. His whole world as a child was loss. Our people travelled south to fight, and many did not return. I did that, and he was terrified, every time I went, he would lose me. Our mother came and went, flitting in and out, our father was distracted. Legolas the boy saw so many die. He saw so much darkness. I think it has scarred him. As elves we are not designed to grow that way. It is not good for us."

And suddenly Elladan is alight.

"You think the loss and grief he grew with have meant he cannot cope with it now!"

"Yes, that. It damaged him as child and he now pays the price. For all I tried to shelter him from it, I could not. I did not do enough."

"Have you told anyone this? Your father?"

"Not my father, no. What guilt that would inflict upon him? He already carries far too much about my death. I have told Finrod. We have spoken on it."

"And Finrod says?"

"Finrod agrees with me."

"It has merit, certainly. I have not given much thought to Legolas' childhood, I must say. Perhaps I should have."

"No-one has asked me." I tell him. "No-one has bothered to give any thought to what it was like for him . . . for us, in the wood." Suddenly I have had enough of thinking on the Greenwood and that time, of Legolas' childhood, full of tragedy. I want more than anything to move on from that. I want Legolas to move on from it.

"But that is enough for one day," I stand abruptly, leaving Elladan sitting on the bed looking up at me. "As much as I love the wood thinking on this depresses me. I am hungry. What of breakfast, Elladan?"

"Breakfast, yes, I should get moving before Elrohir comes looking for me." He snatches up his own shirt and struggles into it. "Just one thing confuses me, Laerion." He says over his shoulder as he dresses. "You put so much effort into protecting Legolas and yet you criticised me the other night for doing the exact same thing."

"I tried to protect Legolas as he grew and shield him from the dark. But it is too late now and the damage has been done. He is a child no longer. In fact he has his own children. He needs to stand on his own two feet and be the one to protect them now so that damage is not handed on any further. That is something he is not always very good at doing. My job now is to help him, to give him a push, firm words, no escape. He needs my high expectations of him, Elladan. And between you and I your brother needs to learn to pin Legolas down with some high expectations of his own rather than cave at the first sign of distress. Legolas will not thank him for it."

"Elrohir has been Legolas' main defence for so long. You did not see what it was like after the accident—"

I cut him off. I know I did not see that but I have seen enough here.

"Legolas is not that elf any more. Finrod has worked miracles. Elrohir needs to stop treating him as a child."

"It is not that simple, Laerion!"

I do not wish to argue with him but I know my brother and I well recognise the frustration and resentment I saw in him last night. It is a dangerous game Elrohir plays if he does not learn to take a step back.

"Listen to me Elladan. I see the warning signs. Legolas feels stronger, more robust, more like the Legolas he was meant to be. Elrohir needs to hold him to account when it is needed. I do not wish to see them fall apart."

"They will not fall apart." Elladan insists. "They cannot exist without each other."

But his supreme confidence seems unfounded to me.

I do not share it.

Instead,

I worry.


	13. Chapter 13

**Laerion**

"I have decided I will go to see Earendil." Elladan says casually as we stroll down the corridor to breakfast, as if it is something perfectly ordinary for him to say. "At first Elrohir's extreme reaction made me wonder if I should leave well enough alone but I am sick of these roles we shoehorned ourselves into. If I allow Elrohir to wall Earendil off for himself I am doing him no favours. It would just be encouraging him to continue."

"You should go and see Earendil for _yourself,_ not Elrohir!"

"Well I do," he says, "I go for both of us."

Sometimes their twinness drives me to distraction.

"I will go to see Elrond first." He says then. "I owe him an explanation. I need to let him know what it is I do and why."

Can it never be easy?

"You do not need permission to visit your own grandfather."

"I am not asking for permission. I will be telling him why I am going."

"And you will return having had your head swayed, filled with non existent guilt and refuse to go."

I cannot help but sigh. Just when I thought I had got him to agree to it. It is so frustrating.

"Give me some credit, Laerion. I have said I will go and I _will._ But I will speak with my father before I do."

"Your father does not have the right to control your relationship with your grandfather no matter what his feelings towards him may be. Elrond needs to let go and mend his own fences with Earendil. Look at the devastation my Grandfather's actions wrecked upon _my_ family. Yet my father wishes for nothing more than to see him again. He may have strong words to say to him but he would never reject him!"

"Elrond was a _child!"_ Elladan turns in me eyes flashing. He is so exhilarating when he is angry, partly because it happens so seldom. "It is not the same, Laerion. Do not compare your father to mine. Thranduil was grown, married, a father himself when Oropher made his mistakes. He had all that time to love him. Elrond was the smallest of boys, abandoned to the hands of those inflicting slaughter, who luckily treated him better than his own parents ever did!"

"Abandoned by his _mother_ Elladan. Earendil was not there."

"Exactly!" Elladan folds his arms as if I have just proved his point. "He was not there."

"But he did not, as you say, abandon his sons to murdering Feanorions. Elwing did that. Earendil left his sons in their mothers care. Perhaps his error was assuming she would actually _care_ for them?"

"I do not know why you argue so strongly against Elwing." Elladan says sulkily then, and I do believe that sulkiness means I have proven my point. "She is from Doriath after all, as Thranduil is. Why support the Noldorion Earendil and not one of your own?"

"Because what she did was wrong. I have no problems admitting that. It does not matter where she comes from. Focusing it all on Earendil is misguided indeed. If you want someone antagonistic towards the Noldor for no better reason than who their long dead relatives are visit my father or brother. Me, I prefer to judge people on their own actions."

We get no further. I never hear his reply to that for Elrohir turns the corner and the fact Elladan and I are engaged in a tense discussion seems to pass him by.

"Elladan!" He calls, "I need to talk."

And just like that our conversation is at an end.

"I wanted to come and apologise last night," he says, "but Legolas—"

"Elrohir, there is nothing so desperate you need to apologise for that deserves waking me." Elladan sighs.

All I can think is thank Elbereth Legolas prevented his midnight visiting. I do not want to be shoving Elladan into a closet again any time soon. It went so badly last time. One thing I know, Elladan needs to tell his brother about us sooner rather than later.

"Can we talk?" Elrohir repeats urgently, throwing a glance in my direction. He means can we talk without _him?_

"After breakfast." Elladan throws an arm across his brother's shoulders and we begin to walk. "After breakfast we will talk but I am hungry. Where is Legolas?"

"Already there." Elrohir says with a frown. "At least that is where he said he would meet me when I told him I must go to see you. I am worried about him. All was not well with him last night."

It proves an effective distraction then, asking about my brother. But the Legolas I saw yesterday—while burdened and concerning to me because of the issues with Elrohir he raised and then so easily dismissed—was still well, steady, as composed as he ever gets. So what does Elrohir speak of?

"He seemed himself when I saw him," I say. "What do you mean?"

And Elrohir shrugs as if he cannot explain it effectively.

"He was distressed last night," he replies. "Things were tense . . . He said some worrying things . . ."

Fair enough. He plays his cards close to his chest and tells me little. It is their relationship after all, not mine.

"Being distressed if things are tense between you is not necessarily something to worry about, Elrohir. After all I would expect it."

But he does not listen to me.

"Legolas can be fragile when he is unhappy," he replies. "He is not the same as you or I."

"He used not to be the same, He used to have issues beyond his control but now he is well." I say firmly. "Finrod has built him up; rebuilt his fea. Do not tear him down again, Elrohir."

"As if I would!" He turns upon me then, eyes blazing. "How can you say that? You and he both?"

"I am saying you need to trust he can stand on his own two feet. He is allowed to be upset without you assuming he is about to fall apart. Can you not see how damaging that may be, Elrohir? It undermines him. If he has told you that you need to listen!"

"You know nothing about it!"

"I live with him in the woods. I have watched him heal. I help him lead our people. I _do_ know."

"Enough!" Elladan steps between us and I am not sure if it is a good thing or not. I do not want a fight, but on the other hand I think Elrohir needs to hear this. And if not from me, then who? "I am _hungry,"_ Elladan says, "and I do not want to start the day arguing in the corridor. And if you worry about, Legolas, Elrohir, then we should go and keep him company rather than shouting about him out here. Come on!"

And he strides away from us leaving us no choice but to follow.

I must admit I can see what has Elrohir worried when we arrive.

Though he smiles at our arrival Legolas is still and quiet as he never is. His usual radiance is dimmed. Everything about him speaks of misery.

Elrohir is right to have concern but unlike him I think _he_ is part of the problem.

Elrohir fusses over the silent Legolas like a mother hen. He hovers, he fusses. His anxiety is palpable. And I see the almost imperceptible way Legolas withdraws from the supportive touch upon his arm. From the look he sends me I know Elladan sees it too. At least one of these twins is listening to me.

"So brother," Elladan is firm as he pushes his chair back to stand, "you wished to talk? Shall we go for a walk now breakfast has mellowed my mood?"

"Perhaps . . ." But Elrohir, so insistent on talking before, now hesitates, glancing at Legolas as he does so. I can read his mind. _I want to but maybe I should stay here because Legolas is miserable?_

"For goodness sake!" Legolas, who has said nothing all meal, now finds his voice and that sharp tongue I warned him about yesterday comes rolling out. "I do not need you by my side all day, every day, Elrohir! Go and talk to your brother. You need to."

When Elrohir flinches in response I feel sorry for him. I can see what has built up Legolas' frustration but the tone is uncalled for, and hurtful.

" _I will see what I can do,"_ Elladan whispers in my ear as he brushes past me, though he gives me no more than the briefest of nods as he disappears out the door.

And Legolas being Legolas, knowing me well, knowing he is about to be held accountable, scarpers out behind them before I can reach out and hold him still.

He is fast and agile and I have no hope of catching him but that does not matter. Eventually he will find his way to his room and so, taking my time, strolling there the long way, I go to wait.

Sure enough, he has beaten me to it. I cannot help a smug smile to myself. I know him so well.

He has not bothered to shut the door behind him and inside he is a whirlwind of energy, piling his belongings on the bed and stuffing them randomly into his pack. Legolas always packs and unpacks like this . . . In total chaos.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he snaps at me without turning around.

"Well it looks as if you are packing but why would that be?"

"Because I have a family waiting for me. I have been away too long. I need to return to Maewen."

"Maewen would not be pleased to know you use her as an excuse to run from problems."

"Who says I am running from problems," he cries, "I miss her! I miss them!" And his shoulders slump.

"I am sure you do, Legolas, but be honest for I am no fool. I know there are issues between you and Elrohir. You as much as admitted it yesterday."

He drops his head so his hair falls across his face and the balled up shirt in his hand tumbles onto the bed and there is silence . . . for the longest time.

I do not interrupt it.

"I am afraid," he says softly in the end. "I am afraid, Laerion. I feel us slipping though my fingers and I do not know how to stop it."

"Running is guaranteed not to help, Legolas." Legolas has always, his whole life, had this tendency to run when things get difficult. He truly is my mother's son.

"We need some space, that is all. We are stuck, Laerion, in roles I do not like or want, and it just keeps happening again and again. He suffocates and protects me. I let him. If I am with Maewen it will all reset, maybe, and we can change it."

"If you leave and go home it will all remain unsaid and the same, with hurt added in, Legolas. You need to stay and fight for this. Tell Elrohir. Tell him what you are feeling."

"But I cannot! I have tried and I cannot."

"Then you have not tried hard enough."

"You do not understand, Laerion." He throws his arms wide in frustration. "I _cannot_ say it. You know how it is when I write. You help me often enough. The words are in my mind but I cannot put them on paper. It is just the same. I know what I want to say but I cannot say it. The words dance, and slide, and escape me before I can say them and I am left mute. He thinks me angry. He thinks I sulk. But it is simply that I _cannot speak_ them."

"What do you mean?" He has never before told me of this!

"That. What I just said. That is what I mean."

"Is this new, this inability with words?" I wonder if, against all appearances his physical damage is somehow extending?

"It has always been, since my accident. Aragorn told me it is all connected. He had seen it before in Men. Some of them where left unable to say a sensible word."

I am astonished.

"With me also?" I ask in horror, "You have this inability to speak with me?"

"Not so much now." He shrugs his shoulders as if it does not even matter, "but before, when I first arrived here, when we were at odds, then yes. It is worst when I am nervous or angry, or agitated."

I cast my mind back over our many conversations. All those times he met my anger and recriminations with silence which simply angered me further. That was because he had no words to say? It is a thought that appalls me.

"I am so sorry," I gasp. "I did not know."

"It does not matter."

"It does matter, Legolas. How can Elrohir not know this after all the years you have been together?"

"Because I have never been able to tell him. Because I have no words. And then, when all is calm and I can find them once again . . . I just . . .I always hope it will never happen again, yet it always does."

He reaches down to pick up the dropped shirt, stuffing it aggressively into his bag.

"You see," he says, "Giving us some space is the only option I have."

"No it is not." I hold his hand still, prising the shirt out of his fingers. "It is _not,_ Legolas. Stay for a bit more. Elladan goes to see Elrond and then to Earendil and I will go with him. Come too, you and Elrohir. Give it that long to see if we can work a way through this.I will speak to Elrohir for you if you need it, or Elladan will."

He shakes his head.

"I need to be able to discuss this with him myself," he says "What am I if I get my brother to do my talking for me?"

Still he begins to pull his belongings out of the pack, just as roughly as he put them in. I believe I have won this small battle and I sit myself down upon the bed in the midst of his chaos to watch. When I lean back my hand falls upon a small pile of papers he has tossed to one side.

"What are these?"

They are pictures.

Legolas is a talented artist. It is a skill he keeps close to his chest and not many know, but he can draw pictures that leap at you off the page.

"Just memories I thought about," he smiles softly. "I drew them for Estel. I will tell him the stories when I go home." He has done this the whole of my nephews life. Drawn him pictures of memories of Arda then weaved those memories into exciting, gripping stories for his son. Legolas has his flaws as a parent but this is one thing that he shines at.

I am surprised to find the first one is me.

It is the Greenwood and Legolas the elfling sits in one corner. The darkness edges around the paper creeping stealthily inwards towards the golden centre where I stand. It is a picture that is me and yet not me for in it I am taller, more magnificent than my reality. I hold the darkness back with an outstretched hand.

"What is this?" I laugh to Legolas, "a fairytale?"

He dumps the handful of clothes on the floor and comes to sit beside me, taking the picture from my hand as he does so, holding it up to the light, head tilted to the side as he looks at it critically.

"Is it not good?" He asks. "I quite like it."

"Oh it is good." I tell him, "as all your pictures are but it is not really me. You have made me . . . Much more glorious than I really am. What story can you tell Estel that will live up to this?"

He frowns as he turns the picture to the left and the right, inspecting it from every angle.

"I will tell him the real story." he says, "of how you defended me in the Greenwood. What do you mean this does not look like you?"

"Legolas," I laugh, "I am not this tall, I am not this strong, I am not this majestic. Father, yes, but not me."

He stares at it solemnly for the longest time before he answers me.

"This _does_ look like you. Every time I look at you this is who I see, my brother. This is who you are. It is _still_ who you are."

"I am not this, Legolas."

But he is adamant.

"Yes you are."

He puts it down then, picking up the next picture which lays in my hand.

"What do you think of this one?" He asks. "It is Gimli and I when I first took him to meet Father in the Greenwood. Estel should like that story. It is most amusing.

Apparently our discussion about the magnificent warrior version of me is at an end.

But when I glance down to see what he has drawn of Gimli in the Greenwood it is not that which catches my eye but the picture beneath it and I snatch it up even as Legolas tries to prevent me getting hold of it.

"That is nothing!" he cries.

But it is not nothing.

He is at the centre of the page trapped behind the bars of a cage and the face he has drawn is desperate. The very air, the world around him is chaos, a whirling, terrifying, maelstrom of mayhem. Elrohir stands outside, strong, firm, and beautiful but stern, even ferocious . His arms are crossed and it is obvious he is not happy, but he looks straight through the caged Legolas as if he does not see him at all.

"What is this, Legolas?"

"As I said, it is nothing,"

"It is so much _not_ nothing." I tell him firmly. "Tell me."

"I drew it last night," he admits grudgingly, "After Elrohir was sleeping. It is how I feel, when we argue and the words to express myself do not come to me. It is as if I am trapped by my damage in the midst of a storm and he does not see it. He does not see it at all."

"You must show him this! He needs to see this!"

"No!" Before I can stop him he grabs it from my hand. "No he will _not_ see it. Do you know what Elrohir will think when he sees this? Of course you do not. You barely know him. He will see failure. He will believe this is all his fault. He will convince himself he is not good enough. Not good enough for me or for anyone. I will _never_ let him see this."

"But Legolas, it explains so much." It tears at my heart, that picture. It is so vivid. So agonising.

"He will blame himself." Legolas shakes his head. "Let me sort this out my own way, Laerion."

"But your own way is not working and you are both miserable. If I could just—"

"Promise me!" he cries. "Promise me you will trust me enough to do this on my own."

I have just spent days lecturing Elladan about the need to give credit where credit is due and let the new Legolas prove his worth. How can I undermine that now?

I cannot.

"Alright, I will say nothing if you wish it. I will only give you advice if you need it. Can I ask one thing though."

"What?" He looks at me with such suspicion.

"Can I have that picture? To keep for me. I will not show Elrohir."

"Why would you want it?" He holds it tight against his chest.

"To remind me. To help me remember when things are not the best between us, why you might be silent."

"You are not to show Elladan, or Father, or anyone. This is my private mind, Laerion."

"Not even Finrod?"

"Finrod already knows." He says defiantly.

Well at least that makes me feel better. Someone else is aware of this.

"I will show no-one your picture, Legolas. I want it only for me."

And so, a picture of reluctance, he gives it to me.

I will put it in the pocket closest to my heart and I will carry it there always.

If I could reach into his mind and pluck this damage from him I would do it.

I cannot.

But I will never again forget it.


End file.
